


Sum Of His Parts

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Ad Meliora [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Danse-Centric, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post Blind Betrayal, Post Nuclear Option, Romance, Timeskips, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Ostracised and hunted by the Brotherhood for the crime of simply existing, ex-Paladin Danse is trying to survive alone out in the Commonwealth.Caught in a radstorm with nowhere to go, Danse is taken in by none other than the Minutemen General herself, an uncommonly kind woman by the name of Nora.With her unwavering support and a Sanctuary to call home, Danse might just be able to step out from under the shadow of the Brotherhood, and make some new friends along the way.But the Brotherhood are nothing if not relentless, and Danse needs to figure out just how far he’s willing to go to protect the life he’s built without them.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Ad Meliora [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903816
Comments: 25
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this fic on and off for about. 2 years. And I have a whole HECK of a ride planned, with a sequel and multiple one shots. This is 100% self-indulgent nonsense, because bethesda are COWARDS, and didn’t give Danse the character development he deserved so I had to do everything MYSELF. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy. This is currently unbeta’d so any errors are, unfortunately, my own. 
> 
> OUTSTANDING!

A low roar of thunder echoes overhead, following the clashing static of heavy streaks of lightning, tinged green by the thick, toxic radiation clouds blocking out the sun. An hour ago the sky had been clear without even the promise of rain. Now, the heavens have split and a heavy deluge drives down so copiously that Danse is soaked in seconds, skin prickling from the acid in the rain.

Shivering, exhausted and starving, he pushes onwards, feet slipping on the sodden earth, sending him sprawling to his knees for the fifth time in twenty minutes. He’s been walking for days, trying to find shelter, going as far out to the outskirts of the centre of the Commonwealth as he dares to avoid as much danger as possible. He’s dirtier than he can ever remember being, in dire need of sleep and water that isn’t radiated. He feels naked without his power armour and the gun at his back is running dangerously low on cells. Much more of this and he’ll die before the storm ends. 

A rock underfoot suddenly gives way, and with a startled cry, Danse tumbles down a muddy bank into a stream that’s not deep enough to cushion his fall. Pain splinters up his right arm as he throws it out to catch himself, jagged stones cutting into his palm. He lays there, dazed and pained, as rain beats down against his face

He’s _so_ tired. There’s no fight left in him anymore. Nothing to fight _for;_ no worth left to his meaningless life. It would be so easy to just… sleep. He closes his eyes, dirt gritty beneath his lids, but he can’t even find the strength to care about that or the cold or the wet or the pain. Maybe it’s better this way. He’s dead to the Brotherhood, after all. May as well live up to it. 

Consciousness slips, hazy and tenuous, despite the hammering of raindrops on his skin and the water lapping at his back. It’s surprisingly calming, lulling him further and further towards unconsciousness. The shivering blessedly seems to have stopped, at least. He almost feels warm now. 

And somewhere there are voices. Low and urgent. Almost inaudible over the susurrous hiss of rain and the roar of the storm. If it’s not an hypothermia-induced hallucination, it’s probably raiders and even the sharp spike of panic isn’t enough to raise him. _Let them come_ , he thinks, thoughts muddled and slow. _End it quickly._

“I’m telling you I heard someone! By the river bank, come on!”

“We’re getting soaked with rads out here. General! General, we need to get inside!”

“Wait, Preston! I _know_ I heard someone!”

There are footsteps somewhere to Danse‘s left, but he hasn’t got the energy to turn his head and look. His vision swims and darkens, thankfully, and he finally starts to succumb to the slow creep of unconsciousness trying to drag him under. 

Until it is interrupted by hands, rough and firm, seizing his shoulders, another set grabbing his legs, just under his knees. There’s shouting above him, but he can’t make sense of the words. He just dangles limply in the foreign grip as he’s hauled out of the water to be taken god knows where. 

Another clash of lightning surges overhead. For a second everything is bathed in blinding light, then Danse loses his final fight against unconsciousness and is lost. 

—

“Hey, come on. Come on, pal, wake up.”

_Don’t want to…_

“Come on, open your eyes!”

_Why? What’s the point?_

A sharp slap jolts Danse fully awake, right cheek stinging dully once the shock of the blow fades. He squints into the darkness, a single barrel full of firewood burns bright in the corner of the room, and a blurry face swims into focus in front of him. He blinks rapidly. 

“There we go!” The face splits into an unfocused grin. “Had us worried. How do you feel?”

How _does_ he feel? He aches all over, he’s exhausted and his stomach is cramping from hunger. He feels nauseous and bruised. But… he’s alive. Not that that’s a particularly favourable point. 

“Here.” The figure takes his arm gently. There’s a sharp prick in the crook of his elbow, not enough to hurt, but he watches warily as a tube is fixed to the needle in his arm. There’s a pause where the only sound is the low crackle of the fire and the thick squelch of a soft plastic container. A long moment passes and then the nausea starts to wash away. A glass is pressed to his lips and he swallows instinctively. It’s water, cold and blessedly refreshing, and he doesn’t taste the bitter tang of radiation. He swallows raggedly with a cough and only moments later the nausea fully abates. RadAway. Thank god. 

“Thanks,” Danse croaks, still trying to focus. Red hair is all he can really say for certain. Tanned skin. Piercing grey eyes. 

With effort, Danse brings his hands up to his eyes to rub them, clearing away dirt and grit gives him a mild sense of relief. He’s mindful of the cannula and the pack of RadAway as he moves. He looks up again, into the concerned face of a woman crouching in front of him, and a man standing a little way behind her, laser musket held at the ready. 

“You’re Minutemen,” Danse realises, eyes darting between them. The man nods and the woman smiles. 

“We are. Found you lying in the creek just outside the settlement. We thought we were too late.”

“Thank you,” Danse mumbles again. He’s faintly aware of a thick blanket draped around his shoulders. He pulls it closer instinctively, fingers aching as the fire slowly warms the icy cold away. 

“Where are you from?” The woman tilts her head questioningly, and in the firelight Danse can see a patch of pale white skin around her left eye that dapples against the darker skin of her face, light patches trailing up to the side of her forehead, down to her neck and disappearing under the collar of her shirt. It’s unusual, but strangely beautiful. 

He takes a long moment to answer the question. He’s still a soldier, and a soldier doesn’t divulge their origins to strangers while unaware of the danger they may be in. Instead he just says “a long way away,” and the answer seems to be enough. 

“I’m Nora,” the woman says and gestures to the man behind her. “This is Preston. You’re in Sanctuary. And you’re safe now.”

Sanctuary? How fitting. 

Before Danse can say anything else, Nora stands and speaks quietly to Preston who nods and slips out the door. Given a moment to gather himself, Danse looks around at the room. It’s small, part of a larger house that’s been fixed up from its war torn state. The windows are boarded up and it bears all the markings of a home, with furniture and pictures hung on the walls. He looks up when Nora turns to him with a kind smile that makes his heart ache strangely. 

“You must be exhausted. But I think you should eat before you sleep. You hungry?”

Danse is nodding before he can stop himself, and his eagerness seems to both amuse and concern Nora. 

“Can you stand?” She holds out a hand to him and Danse takes it before he can think about it, surprised by how easily she hauls him to his feet. She’s strong, deceptively so, and he finds he’s impressed despite himself. 

She leads him through to another room in the house where a cooking station sits against the wall, a table and chairs set out in front. Two lanterns illuminate the room with a warm glow. It’s cosy. 

With a wave of her hand, Nora directs him to sit down while she fills a bowl with something steaming hot from a pot on the stove. She sets it down in front of Danse with a spoon and his mouth waters as he starts to eat with less decorum than the situation would probably call for, but he’s too hungry to care. Nora doesn’t seem bothered, she just sits down in the chair opposite and cracks open a Nuka Cola for herself. 

She refills the bowl for him wordlessly when he finishes and he eats the second helping slower, sighing contentedly as the hot food warms the rest of his body. He feels better, and is overwhelmingly grateful for the surprising kindness of these strangers. 

“Thank you, Nora…” he says with a tired smile. 

Nora returns the smile easily, pushing a bottle of Nuka Cola towards him. “Feel like telling me why you were roaming the Commonwealth in the middle of a rad storm?”

“It caught me unawares,” Danse says sourly. “I was looking for shelter.”

“Nowhere to go?”

The blunt question catches him off guard. There’s no malice behind it, just honest curiosity. Danse appreciates that, even if it stings a little. 

“No,” he admits, picking at the label of the bottle in his hands. “I was… Part of a group. Not anymore. And I… had nowhere else to go, so…”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Nora says. “We’re a ragtag group, but we stick together.”

Danse shakes his head. “I couldn’t trespass on your hospitality like that.”

“Well, where else are you gonna go?”

Danse can’t answer that. Nora nods slowly, like she expected as much. 

“Whatever you’ve been through, I appreciate that it’s been hard. I do. You don’t have to decide right now, but at least take a few days to recover. Wait out the storm, get your strength back. There’s no rush, is there?”

“No,” Danse says softly. “Thank you.”

Nora smiles that kind smile again and gets to her feet. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room. You’ll be sharing with Sturges, but he’s not a bad roommate. He snores a bit, but something tells me you’re tired enough to sleep through it.”

Danse manages a slightly more genuine smile, even though the memory of his initiate days stabs into his mind painfully. The sound of his fellow initiates snoring as they all bunked down in the same room, the sense of comfort and familiarity lulling him to sleep. He shakes himself to dispel the unwelcome thoughts and lets Nora remove the Radaway drip from his arm before following her through to a small room with a bunk bed. It looks incredibly inviting. 

Nora points him to the top bunk and sets down a fresh set of clothes for the morning. 

“Sleep well,” she says and Danse is convinced this woman must be a mother. She’s too kind and warm to be anything else. He murmurs another ineffectual thank you and settles down to sleep. Warm and safe for the first time in god knows how long, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep and, with a stomach full and thoughts finally quiet, his sleep is dreamless. 

—

Danse wakes with a jolt to the loud lowing of a brahmin outside his window. He sits up suddenly, too suddenly, and smacks his head hard against the ceiling. Eyes watering against the pain, he looks around wildly before he recalls the previous night and his frantic heart slows the double time pace in his chest. He’s alone, his fellow roommate having vacated sometime before he woke up, leaving his bed an unmade mess that makes Danse frown in disapproval. 

He gets up slowly, stepping down the ladder and reaching for the change of clothes Nora had left for him on the dresser. It’s simple, jeans and a shirt, but they’re clean and fit well enough. He pulls them on and makes his bed and his roommate’s without much thought. Pulling on his boots, he ventures outside, looking around curiously. 

The settlement is a bustle of activity. Traders mill around a central sort of market area where settlers have their own trading posts to work at. There’s a bar across the street where several people, and ghouls Danse is shocked to see, are chatting and laughing amiably. There’s a large farming plot to the east of the settlement that has dozens of workers tending the copious crops that seem to be flourishing. Dogs are running around, playing and barking, while farmers tend their brahmin. Also surprising is the amount of wildflowers spanning the settlement; hundreds of blooms that light up and stand out starkly against the barren brown landscape beyond the settlement limits.

Danse is stunned, to say the least. 

“Hey!” He turns to see Nora striding up to him, grinning widely. Her General’s uniform gives her a stately bearing, coattails caught in a light breeze. “Glad to see you’re up and about. What do you think?”

He honestly doesn’t know. It’s… against everything the Brotherhood taught him to see humans and ghouls side by side. But everyone seems so happy and relaxed. It’s something Danse has never seen before. Even within the Brotherhood, they’d never had this kind of peace. 

“It’s different,” Danse says finally. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Nora thankfully takes that as praise and nods proudly. “A lot of work went into this place, but it all paid off.”

Danse has to agree. Except… “Ghouls?” He sounds uncertain. 

Nora doesn’t seem to take offence. She shrugs. “I get a lot of people are a bit wary, but they’re good people. Hard working just like the rest of us. It’s not their fault radiation made them that way.”

It’s said so simply that Danse is momentarily blindsided and can’t think of anything to say in response. If only it were that easy for him. He has years of Brotherhood doctrine to unlearn if he’s going to start seeing ghouls as people. 

“So,” Nora says, clapping her hands together. “You want a tour?”

Danse agrees, and they set off through Sanctuary together. 

—

Late in the afternoon, Danse has met countless people and he can only recall the names of a few. There’s Preston who helped bring him to Sanctuary with Nora, Sturges the resident handyman. Marcy and Jun Long who keep to themselves but work hard. Codsworth the relentlessly cheery Mister Handy and Mama Murphy who sits in her chair and looks at Danse with a gaze that says she knows a lot more than she should and that unsettles him deeply. 

He learns that Nora really is the Minutemen General, but she brushes it off mildly with a modesty that Danse has come to expect of her. 

They’re a friendly enough group, and they all work well together. They seem to respect Nora greatly, which Danse isn’t surprised about. She seems like a natural leader. Calm and kind. 

“You gonna tell me your name, then?” Nora asks as they sit down in the bar. She has a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Danse had opted for a small glass of whiskey. It’s the same brand Teagan had always reserved for him during supply runs. It tastes sweeter than the memory. 

“It’s Danse.”

Nora grins. “Dance? Like—” She shimmies a little in her seat and sings a few soft lines of _Atom Bomb Baby._ Danse can’t help his faint chuckle. 

“No, _Danse._ ” He spells it for her, smiling at her good-natured teasing. 

“Good name,” she says, tapping ash into the dented tray on the table. “It’s nice to meet you, Danse.”

“And you, Nora.”

They sit in companionable silence for a little while, watching the sky slowly bleed from orange to purple as the sun starts to set. 

Danse is starting to wonder what life would be like if he stayed here. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter length consistency??? In MY fic??? It’s less likely than you think. 
> 
> Look, I fully believe the the Brotherhood of Steel has some awesome characters in it. Proctor Ingram and Scribe Haylen and... Uhh... 
> 
> Anyway. That being SAID... They’re bigoted as SHIT and they’re not gonna be secret good guys or well-meaning, misguided folk in this. So. Sorry if you vibe with the Brotherhood, but also not sorry and also WHY.

“Nick!”

Nora’s voice rings out through the settlement and Danse looks up to see her running towards the newcomer, arms flung wide to catch him in a hug. They laugh happily as they embrace each other, chatting about anything and everything as Nora welcomes him like an old friend. Danse watches as Nora leads Nick towards her house, the one Danse is currently leaning against, and he stands up straight as he readies himself to be introduced. 

He can’t quite stop the look of utter shock that washes over his face. 

This man, this ‘Nick’, is a synth. The whole right side of his face is cracked, the inner circuitry on full display. His trench coat it scuffed and faded and a worn fedora is tipped jauntily on his head. He stands there, apropos of nothing, as Danse flounders and resists the urge to draw his gun and fire ceaselessly. 

“…Danse? I said, are you okay?”

He jolts back to himself, both Nora and Nick watching him in concern. Nick looks like he wants to say something and Danse can’t understand how a synth face like that can convey any human emotion. 

“This is Nick,” Nora says slowly, as though wondering at Danse’s current mental acuity. “He’s a detective from Diamond City. A very good friend of mine.”

Danse struggles to find the words. “Danse,” he finally forces out, giving Nick a terse nod. 

Nick gives a wry smile. “Not used to seeing synths, huh?” His voice is low and somewhat rough, but not unpleasant. 

_If only you knew,_ Danse thinks but doesn’t say. 

“Apologies,” Danse says stiffly, shocked the words are coming out of his own mouth. “I was just caught by surprise.”

Nick waves a hand. “No harm done. Met my share of people creeped out by this ol’ mug.”

Nora eyes Danse but says nothing, leading Nick into the house and starting a conversation that Danse doesn’t try to follow. Instead, he makes his way to the bar, intent on drinking until his mind stops reeling. 

He doesn’t get the opportunity. 

The moment he sits down, glass and whiskey bottle in hand, the seat beside him is taken up by a ghoul dressed ridiculously in a colonial outfit, a tricorner hat perched on his head. 

His reputation precedes him. John Hancock, the ghoul mayor of Goodneighbor. 

“You look a little on edge, brother,” the ghoul drawls, grinning lazily. 

“I’m fine,” Danse growls in place of the staunch _fuck off_ he wants to say. 

“Ahh, see I don’t believe that for a hot second.” The ghoul draws on a cigarette, smoke curling out from the hollow where his nose should be. Danse feels a little sickened. “You know what I think?”

“ _What.”_ Danse looks at him flatly. The ghoul seems to be getting some perverse joy out of this. 

“ _I_ think,” he says, pitching his voice low and conspiratorial, “that you’re Brotherhood.”

Danse stiffens. The ghoul notices. 

“Got you bang to rights, don’t I?” 

“No.” The answer hurts. 

“See, I think I do. So what, you worm your way into peaceful settlements, then call in your tin can buddies to route out all the ghouls and synths? That how you’re operating now?”

Danse’s hand tightens around his glass. “ _No._ ”

The ghoul snorts. Danse isn’t quite sure how. 

“Whatever your game is, brother, just know that we ain’t gonna go down peacefully. Everybody here worked too damn hard to lose what we got goin’. Make no mistake; you set one foot outta line, Nora’ll put you down before you can say “Buffout”.”

“I’m not with the Brotherhood,” Danse says dully. He throws back his glass of whiskey and sucks his teeth against the burn. “Not… anymore.”

“ _Oh._ ” A beat passes and then the ghoul claps him on the back, sending Danse jerking forward against the table. “Another outcast! I had you all _wrong_ , brother! Sorry ‘bout that. Can’t be too careful ‘round here, ya see.” He grins, holding a hand out. “John Hancock. Mayor of Goodneighbour.”

“I kn…” Danse trails off and considers the outstretched hand. It wouldn’t do to make enemies here. And it would probably make Nora mad. Danse takes the hand, giving it a firm shake. The grizzled skin is surprisingly warm. Danse suppresses a shudder. 

“Danse. Ex-Paladin.”

Hancock gives a low whistle. “So what happened? Why’d they kick you out?”

“I…” In truth, Danse doesn’t know. Sure, he’s a synth, and that goes against everything they stand for. But he’d only ever fought _for_ them. He’d given his life to the Brotherhood of Steel. He’d lost friends, comrades, taken so many lives for the cause. He thinks of Cutler. He’d killed his best friend and all while he himself was a synth, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. That stings more than it ever has before. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Danse says finally. Hancock doesn’t push, which is surprising, but he claps Danse on the back again. He weathers the touch with a grateful grunt. 

“You’ll fit in round here, I can tell.” 

Danse is starting to think so. 

—

A week passes before Danse sees Nora again. She’d strolled out of Sanctuary in her General’s uniform, gun in hand, with Nick by her side. Danse had kept firmly to himself in the following days, lending a hand to the farmers working the crops, anything to keep himself busy. They’d been grateful for the extra help, and the honest work kept Danse’s mind occupied. 

Hancock hung around like a bad smell, but Danse began to tolerate his presence with surprising ease. He was uncannily relaxed, taking everything in his stride with that customary lazy attitude. The jet canister often in his hand explained that, but otherwise, he wasn’t too bad to hang around with. 

Sanctuary was starting to feel like home, but Danse needed to speak to Nora before he settled down for good. 

He gets his chance a week later when Nora returns to Sanctuary, tired and dirty, but smiling and lugging a good few packs’ worth of salvage. Nick hasn’t returned with her, but Danse recalls that he lives in Diamond City, so it’s likely he’s just gone home. 

He waits until Nora has cleaned up and is sorting through her haul before he approaches, wringing his hands nervously.

Nora looks up at him, smiling widely. “Hey, Danse! How’ve you been?”

It’s uncanny how she can wash away his nervousness with just a look, though the addition of the genuinely delighted way she greets him is even nicer. He finds himself smiling and sits on the porch beside her. She nudges a pack towards him and he begins to help her sort through the salvage, splitting it into piles of what can be dismantled and what can’t. 

“I was hoping to talk with you about… about staying in Sanctuary.”

“Started to settle in?” Nora glances at him, tossing a silver knife into one of the piles along with a lightbulb. Danse pauses, abruptly aware that he may not know how she’s sorting the salvage after all.

“Yes,” he says, putting a lighter into one of the piles tentatively, throwing Nora a questioning look. She nods her approval so he adds another, still largely unsure of each pile’s requirements. “It’s been… an experience.”

Nora hums in agreement, tossing a handful of cables to one side. What could she possibly be doing with those?

“I’d obviously work for my stay. I’ve been helping with the crops, but I’m not experienced with farming. I’m good with guns and crafting armour. I know a thing or two about mechanics.”

Nora looks at him. “Know anything about power armour?”

Danse swallows, throat suddenly tight. “Enough.”

“Good.” Nora stands, throwing her pack over her shoulder. “Come with me.” 

Danse scrambles after her as she strides off towards a warehouse in the corner of the settlement, mostly hidden behind the bar. She drags the heavy door open and Danse gapes. 

Four suits of power armour are hung in display cages. A rusted suit of T-45, a badly dented suit of T-51, Nuka Cola themed suit of T-60, and a jet black X-01 suit in the best shape of them all. It’s an impressive collection to say the least.

“I’m having trouble with the T-51,” Nora says, tossing her pack down. “I got thrown around a bit by a deathclaw and the opening mechanism got destroyed so I can’t use it.”

Danse moves over to the suit to assess the damage for himself. It’s bad, but not unfixable. He’s seen countless Knights and Paladins return to Ingram unable to exit their power armour after a few rough scrapes. Ingram always found it hilarious. 

“I can fix it,” Danse says confidently and flushes a little under the beam that Nora sends his way. 

“You’re welcome to do what you want with them. I come in here to work when I need some peace. All the weapons on the wall are free for you to mod if you like. You seem like you’re happier when you’re working.”

“I am,” Danse admits. “Makes it easier not to… Think.”

Nora nods, a little sadly. “I understand. I do.”

Danse really thinks she might, and that thought is as comforting as it is sad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hancock is my fave and I Will Die for him. Chaotic bisexual dumbass with a heart of gold.

It becomes their thing, just the two of them, whenever they have time. Nora and Danse working in companionable silence while they listen to the soft sounds of the radio. Nora’s incredibly handy, and Danse has seen her craft an entire set of combat armour in less than an hour. He enjoys watching her work and takes great pride in his own crafting when Nora observes and compliments, each time bringing a flush to Danse’s cheeks. 

He fixes the T-51 armour and Nora gives him a sound kiss on the cheek in thanks. He can still feel it, warm and tingling when he lies in bed that night, Sturges’ soft snores the only sound in the dark. He thinks about Nora’s smile, the low, soft sound of her laughter and the way she sings along to the radio while they work. He’s giddy about it, has to cover his face with his hands and smother the urge to laugh. It feels almost private, the time they spend together in the warehouse. Danse keeps it to himself, the first real piece of happiness he’s had since the Brotherhood. Sleep comes easier, and the memories hurt less. 

He keeps working while Nora is away. She often wanders off, one of her usual group going with her when she asks. Nick is a usual fixture at her side, though Hancock is always willing to go when she asks him to. Preston agrees mildly, but Danse can see he prefers to stay at Sanctuary. He dislikes leaving the settlement without him, even though they have enough people and turrets to keep them safe. Danse offers to take a patrol while Preston is gone, and the look of relief on his face is tinged with gratefulness. Danse is pleased, and takes the second watch each night with two other settlers, Carl and Darla, the latter of which is a ghoul. 

The first few nights are awkward, Danse electing to stay quiet rather than accidentally say something to cause offence, but Darla is easy enough to talk to. She’s kind, if a little rough around the edges, but she handles a gun well, and has a sharp sense of humour that puts Danse at ease. 

They work well together and after a few nights on the same watch, Carl produces a pack of cards. They play a few games to pass the time and Danse finds out that Darla was a waitress in the Lexington Slocum’s Joe before the war and has a sister who is also a ghoul who lives in Goodneighbour. Carl doesn’t talk about himself much, but he says he has a daughter who lives in Diamond City. He doesn’t talk about her mother and Danse doesn’t ask. Nor does he give away anything about himself. His past is private, and the longer he stays in Sanctuary, the further away it feels. 

—

“I need to go to Nordhagen Beach. They have a raider problem. Will you come with me?”

Danse looks up from the X-01 leg that’s giving him trouble - a dodgy actuator and a shoddily welded brace - and wipes sweat away from his brow with his forearm. Nora’s looking at him hopefully. His stomach flutters.

“You want me to come?”

Nora nods. “I’d appreciate you watching my back. I feel like it’d be a good chance to test out the mods you put on the laser rifles.”

Danse smiles faintly. “I did put a lot of work into those. I’d like to see how they handle.”

“So you’ll come?”

Danse feels honoured to be asked, but he can’t stop the question from slipping out. “None of the others free to go with you?”

“I’m asking you,” Nora says simply, and Danse feels a rush of satisfaction that he’s not last choice. 

“I’d be honoured to accompany you,” he finally says, brushing his hands off. Nora beams and his knees feel a little weaker under the weight of it. 

“Great! Now, can you give me a hand with this parallel circuit? I can’t get the branches to connect properly and it keeps shorting out the...”

—

They set off the next day, and Danse feels almost normal with a laser rifle back in his hands. Nora had suggested power armour, but that hadn’t felt right, so instead he’s clipped into a set of combat armour that Nora had made specially. He wonders if she’d planned to ask him all along, with how prepared she’d seemed. The thought makes his stomach stutter with a strange kind of glee. 

The journey is long but mostly uneventful, nothing more than bloodbugs and bloatflies hindering their progress. They take shelter in places Nora seems to know well, passing through several settlements full of people who are always glad to see her, greeting her with happy cries of “General!”

It’s not until they pass into County Crossing that their destination sends a wave of dread rolling through Danse’s gut. 

The Prydwen, glinting proudly in the sunlight, comes into view as they cross the threshold of the settlement and Danse can’t take his eyes off it, hands shaking where he’s gripping his rifle too tightly. Plastic creaks under his fingers but he can’t loosen his hold. All his muscles have locked into place. He’s too close. He could be seen, someone will know who he is. They’ll finish the job Elder Maxson started. 

“Danse? Oh my god, what happened?”

Nora steps in front of him, and he finally rips his gaze away from the airship to look at her. She looks so worried, hand coming up to cup his cheek softly. 

“Talk to me, Danse, you’re bleeding.”

Bleeding? He looks down. His palm has been cut by a sharp piece of plastic sticking out from the grip of his gun. He must have gripped too tightly and cracked it. He stares at the blood. It’s red and for some reason that’s funny. He bleeds like a human. He’d bled for the Brotherhood. Why was he different now? Why couldn’t they—

“Danse?” Nora sounds frantic. He looks back up at her, pretty face pinched with concern. He swallows hard, trying to calm his thundering pulse. 

“I… I can’t be here,” he manages. “I didn’t know it was so close— They can’t find me.”

Nora frowns, looking round toward the Prydwen. When she looks back at him, he knows she’s figured it out. Shame and panic fight a gut-churning battle in his stomach. The Brotherhood hate the people she cares about. What will she say? Will she leave him here? Tell him he’s no longer welcome in Sanctuary?

Before he can say anything to defend himself, Nora drags him into a small hut just away from the settlement centre. She shoves him down in a chair and pushes a glowing bottle of Nuka Cola Quantum into his hand. 

“You’re in shock,” she tells him steadily. “You need sugar.”

Numbly he lifts the bottle to his lips. She’s already removed the cap. 

Pulling a chair over, Nora sits in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. He startles at the contact but she doesn’t move her hand. It doesn’t  _ look _ like she’s going to banish him from Sanctuary, but he can’t imagine she can do anything else now that she knows. 

Nora doesn’t say anything until Danse’s breathing evens out, just keeps her hand on his knee, thumb rubbing slow circles through his jeans. The touch is nice, calming, light enough that he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. She’s done this before. She certainly has the air of someone who can calm people down easily. 

“What happened back there?” She finally asks, voice low and soft. Danse takes a shuddering breath, staring down at the soda bottle in his hands. 

“I was a Paladin,” he says after a long pause. “For the Brotherhood. Signed up back in the Capital Wasteland and never looked back.”

Nora says nothing, waiting for him to continue. It takes a lot of deep breaths and stuttering for Danse to finish. 

“It was my life,” he admits, eyes stinging. “It was my home. My… My family. I had a team, I had friends… And I lost it all. They cast me out.”

“Why?”

Danse closes his eyes. Shamefully, he feels tears spill down his cheeks. “I’m a synth.”

He feels Nora’s sharp intake of breath and he tenses up, waiting for the inevitable. 

It doesn’t come. 

Instead, arms wrap around him, one hand coming up to softly cradle the back of his head, combing through his hair soothingly in a gesture that makes more tears well up. 

“Oh,  _ Danse _ ,” Nora says softly, tone full of pity. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s their duty,” Danse mumbles into her shoulder, his own arms wrapping around her waist tightly. “I’m fortunate they let me live.”

Nora pulls back, expression hard. “ _ No,  _ Danse. You aren’t  _ fortunate.  _ You dedicated your life to them, and they exile you? That’s disgusting.”

“I’m not  _ human, _ ” Danse mourns, shaking his head. “The whole credo of the Brotherhood—“

“Danse,  _ listen _ to me.” Nora’s voice is imploring. “You are  _ not _ less of a person because you’re a synth. You are more human than a lot of people I know.  _ Especially _ more human than anyone in the Brotherhood. You feel, you hurt, you  _ cry. _ ” With soft fingers she wipes away the tears on his cheeks. “That makes you human. No matter what anyone says.”

Her words stir something in his chest. With another deep breath, Danse feels himself steady and a weight lifts off his shoulders. Nora’s trust, her earnest words, have reached something inside him, something he didn’t even know was there before. It’s a heady kind of relief that permeates every part of his body. 

_ Machines don’t feel relief _ , he thinks. 

Nora smiles tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to Danse’s forehead. “See? Completely human. You are what you are. You’re Danse. My friend who’s amazing with power armour and helpful and honest. If the Brotherhood couldn’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

Fresh tears threaten to spill and Danse dabs at his eyes with a small laugh. “Thank you, Nora. I know I say that a lot, and I can’t do much to repay you-“

“There’s nothing to repay,” Nora says firmly. “We’ll stay here tonight. Do you want to go home, or do you still want to come with me?”

_ Home _ . The word fills Danse with a sense of warmth and belonging, patching up the hole in his chest left by the Brotherhood. 

“I’ll come with you,” Danse says.

_ I think my home is with you. Wherever you are.  _

—

They bunk down in a small outhouse that Nora says she often stays in when she’s down this way. There are no beds but Nora had them bring bed rolls for when accommodation was hard to come by. They roll them out side by side, just enough space to fit the both of them, and Nora shrugs off her General’s coat, laying it over her back before she settles down. Danse watches her back as she shifts to get comfortable, fingers pausing on the clips of his armour. 

She’s so confident and sure of herself, but Danse knows barely anything about her. It doesn’t feel prudent to ask, but the curiosity is nearly overwhelming. Maybe just a simple question here and there will be enough to quell the rising curiosity. He doubts it, but it’ll be a way to pass the time on the way home. 

He sets down his chest piece and settles onto his bed roll to get comfortable. The night is relatively warm, so he won’t need a blanket, but he can’t quite seem to drift off. 

There’s a soft sound beside him as Nora rolls over onto her back. He stays still, eyes fixed on the holes in the roof the stars are just visible through. 

“Can’t sleep?” Nora’s voice is a gentle whisper. 

“No. You?”

“No. I’m sorry I brought you out here, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s your truth to share with who you want. It’s up to you to decide when you’re ready.”

Danse sighs softly. “I feel like I say thank you too much. It doesn’t feel like it means much, but-“

“It means a lot to me.”

Danse’s cheeks flush. He’s glad of the dark. 

There’s another shuffle and Nora’s voice sounds closer when she next speaks. She’s rolled over to face him. Danse swallows audibly. 

“You told me something very important to you today. I want to return the favour.”

Danse stills. “Yes?” He fights to keep the excited curiosity out of his voice. He succeeds. Just about. 

“I was a vault dweller,” Nora says softly. “Vault one-eleven. We were cryogenically frozen.”

Danse blinks, stunned. “Frozen?”

“Yeah. It was some creepy social experiment. A lot of vaults had them, I’ve found out. But me and my family were put on ice. I’m pre-war. Sanctuary was my home. Before the bombs fell.”

Danse is shocked, to say the least, but he can’t deny it makes sense. Nora isn’t Commonwealth born. She holds herself differently, acts accordingly. She’s adapted, sure, but she’s not born of the wastelands. 

“We were frozen for… I don’t know how long exactly. Two hundred years? Two-ten? I don’t know. Someone came and shut off the cryo some time after we were locked in and I woke up. I was confused, I didn’t know what was happening. I watched through the little window of my pod while a mercenary and an Institute scientist killed my husband and kidnapped my infant son.”

Oh, god. Danse can’t even imagine how that must have felt. To watch that… To be unable to reach them, to stop it…

“I was frozen again. When I woke up properly and got out of the vault, I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly everything was different and in ruins. My son was missing, my husband dead, my world destroyed.”

“I’m… sorry.” It sounds hollow, but Danse doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Thank you,” Nora murmurs. “It took a long time and a lot of effort to adjust. I had people to help me, like Nick, Hancock, and the Minutemen. Even the Railroad. I got into the Institute. I wanted to find my son, find out why they took him.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” The word is little more than a sigh, but Danse can hear the pain behind it. He doesn’t ask any more, and for a long moment he doesn’t think Nora will speak again. When she does, her voice wavers

“My son Shaun… He’d become the director of the Institute. They’d used his uncorrupted DNA to create synths. He tried to tell me the Institute was the way forward for mankind. I didn’t listen. The Institute had taken my son away from me. I wanted to watch it burn.

“We worked together, the Railroad and the Minutemen. We rescued as many synths as we could, got them out and to safety. Then we blew it up. Destroyed the Institute and left a crater behind.”

“I… I’d heard stories. I didn’t know it was you… You saved the Commonwealth.”

“I killed my son, Danse.”

“You  _ saved _ thousands.”

Nora gasps softly, and Danse knows she’s crying. Instinctively he rolls to face her, reaching out blindly to take her hand. Her fingers link with his and she squeezes tightly. He squeezes back, hoping to convey everything he can’t articulate. 

“You’re amazing,” Danse says softly, made brave by the dark. “You’ve done so much, for so many people. For  _ me.  _ You shouldn’t have to bear this alone. I’m… I’m here for you. If you ever need me.”

“Thank you, Danse.”

He finally understands how his many seemingly empty thank you’s can be enough for Nora. Those three words spoken softly while they hold hands are all he’ll ever need to hear. 

“You’re a good man, Danse,” Nora murmurs. Danse opens his mouth to reply, but before he can he feels soft hair against his face, the faint scent of soap and fever blossom, and the softest press of lips against his own. 

He lies there, too stunned to move, even when Nora’s soft, even breaths indicate she’s fallen asleep. Danse can still feel the touch on his lips when he wakes up and notices, with a childlike sort of wonder, that they’re still holding hands. 

—

“Thank you. It’s not much, but here.”

Danse waits by the path as Nora tries to fend off two avidly grateful settlers trying to push caps into her hands. She tells them it’s no trouble, that she doesn’t expect payment, but they won’t listen and she pockets the caps with thanks before hitching her rifle onto her shoulder and heading over. 

“Ready to go?”

Danse nods and they set off down the path side by side, turning to wave goodbye to the settlers before they disappear out of sight. The Prydwen hangs dauntingly in the sky behind them, but its presence isn’t as overwhelming as it had been a few days ago. Danse wonders if they’ll depart back for the Capital Wasteland now that the Institute threat has been neutralised. It’s not likely, considering the wealth of technology and information the Commonwealth still has to offer, but he can hope. He’ll feel a lot better without the airship hovering over him, physically and metaphorically. 

Regardless, having Nora at his side is proving to be most uplifting, and for her part, she seems to enjoy his company. 

The journey home is as uneventful as the first, though Nora has a habit of picking up anything and everything that catches her eye. By the time Sanctuary is visible in the distance, both she and Danse have packs full to bursting. 

“I don’t see how half of this is going to be useful,” Danse says, wincing as something inside his pack digs into his back. He wriggles around to try and dislodge it. Nora looks just as uncomfortable, but she has yet to complain. 

“It all has its uses,” she says sagely. “Never underestimate how badly you might need something when the time comes.”

“Fourteen souvenir magnet badges?”

“I like putting them on Codsworth.” Her impish grin makes Danse laugh. 

They reach Sanctuary just before dusk, and Nora hands over their packs to Sturges who roots through them eagerly. They’re welcomed back by various settlers who express their relief at seeing them home safe. Darla claps Danse’s shoulder with a grin, and when he grins back, he catches Nora’s eye. She smiles at him, proudly, nodding as if to say “things have changed.”

It warms his heart to know that he’s found somewhere he fits in, and he agrees enthusiastically when Darla and a few others invite him to the bar. 

When he leaves in the early hours of the morning, his steps are unsteady from the alcohol thrumming pleasantly through his system. He dimly wonders how he’s going to scramble up into his bunk when something tackles him from the side, knocking him down into the dirt. 

“Dogmeat, no!”

It takes a good few seconds for Danse to realise he’s not being attacked by an unknown assailant, and that the wet, slobbering thing lapping at his face is a tongue belonging to an over-exuberant Alsatian. Nora appears only seconds later, tugging the dog off of him with a torrent of apologies. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, wrestling the dog away. “He’s friendly, he just gets overexcited sometimes and-“

“It’s alright,” Danse says, leaning up on his forearms. “He’s a good fighter to be able to take down a soldier. Even if I am inebriated.”

Nora laughs and hauls Danse to his feet with that quiet, impressive strength again. She brushes him off while Dogmeat wriggles happily, sniffing at Danse’s legs. He leans down to pet him, ruffling his fur. 

“Hey, boy. Nice to meet you.” He straightens up, staggering a little. Even drunk he doesn’t miss the way Nora’s hand moves as if to steady him. “New stray?”

Nora smiles, shaking her head. “No, Dogmeat’s been with me since the beginning. But I let Nick take him for a while. He can track a scent across the whole Commonwealth. Dogmeat, I mean. Not Nick.”

Danse nods, crouching down to fuss the eager dog. He receives a thorough licking for his attentions, and he laughs as Dogmeat clambers all over him. 

“He’s affectionate,” Danse says, grinning at Nora. 

Nora doesn’t say anything and Danse stands, looking at her in concern. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just…” Nora shrugs with a nervous smile. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you properly grin. You’re usually so… stoic.”

“Old habits, I suppose.”

Nora hums her agreement. “I was actually looking for you, if you’re not in a hurry to go to sleep.”

“I’ve always got time for you,” Danse says honestly and swears he can see Nora’s cheeks darken in the moonlight. 

“Come with me,” she says quickly, turning away and patting her thigh to signal Dogmeat to follow. Whether it was a signal for just the dog, Danse isn’t sure, because he follows just as obediently, if a little unsteadily. 

They stop just outside a building Danse hasn’t seen before. It wasn’t in Sanctuary when they left; it had been just a simple foundation he’d assumed would become another settlement home. It seems as though he was right. It’s a simple but sturdy structure, a door and windows, and a well furnished sleeping area inside. It looks clean, almost pre-war, and there’s an old storage trunk inside, a bedside table with a lantern, a plush armchair and ottoman. It’s homey and comfortable and Danse isn’t quite sure why Nora is showing him this. 

“I struggled to make Sanctuary a home again,” Nora says, scratching absently at Dogmeat’s ears. “It was difficult to see it destroyed and abandoned. Everything it is now has come from hard work from everyone. It’s  _ become _ a sanctuary, despite everything. And I wanted it to be a home for you, too, so you know you’ll always be welcome here. We’ll never shut you out.”

Touched by her words as he often finds himself of late, this remarkable woman with her uncanny ability to say the right thing in nearly every situation, Danse almost misses her meaning. When the penny drops, he does a startled, almost comical double take between her and the house. 

“This— This is for  _ me _ ?”

Nora nods, shuffling anxiously in place. “Do you like it…?”

Danse is, not uncommonly, lost for words. “Nora, I… There are no words. It’s… It’s  _ perfect _ .”

Nora’s expression softens in relief. “Good, I’m glad. Preston, Sturges and Hancock helped build most of it. I was really hoping it’d be ready by the time we got back. I mean, I didn’t know everything until we got to County Crossing and you told me, but I figured there was something, and Hancock said-“

The rest of Nora’s rambling is muffled by Danse’s chest as he pulls her in for a tight hug. She relaxes in his arms instantly, wrapping her own around his waist just as tightly. For a long moment they just stand like that, holding each other. There’s nothing else to be said, and Danse firmly believes that actions speak louder than words. 

A few more minutes pass before they step back from each other and emboldened by his inebriation, Danse tilts Nora’s head up with a gentle finger under her chin, leaning in slowly. Nora’s lips part, eyes shining in the moonlight before they flutter closed as he draws near. 

“Who-ho-hoa! Looks like our boy the tin-can likes his new digs, huh, sister?”

Nora and Danse jump away from each other, Nora’s cheeks burning while Danse just glares at the grinning ghoul who gleefully tips his hat to them both. 

Danse may be seriously reconsidering his newfound tolerance for ghouls. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Hancock having a friendship that is 90% insults and 10% actual genuine brotherly affection is my whole kink and I WILL base my entire identity on this. 
> 
> Also, Danse, bby, you’re so pretty but you’re. SO stupid. God bless.

When Danse gets up the next morning, Hancock follows him through the settlement with a crooked grin that rankles Danse’s nerves something awful. He follows Danse into the warehouse and drapes himself over one of the tables, grinning that awful grin all the while Danse tries to work. 

“You know I used to kill your kind for fun, ghoul,” Danse growls, snapping a latch into place with more force than necessary. Hancock barks a laugh and throws a screw at Danse’s back. It pings off and rolls away with a faint clatter. 

“You’re all talk, tin can.” Danse’s lips twitch against a smile. 

“Keep this up and you’ll find out what happens when the talking stops.”

“Ooh, you’re a feisty one, ain’t’cha?”

Danse levels him with a glare that does nothing except widen Hancock’s grin. There’s no real heat behind it. Danse hasn’t playfully fought with anyone since his Initiate days. But with Hancock he has a perfect partner to play off. His fingers twitch toward the wrench on the side and Hancock’s black eyes track the movement with a surprising level of perception. 

“Try it, metal man. See how far you-“

The wrench hits him right between the eyes with a satisfying  _ thunk _ , knocking him back a few steps. He swears as he rubs his forehead, narrowing his eyes at Danse who laughs. 

And laughs. 

And  _ laughs.  _

By the time the fit subsides, Danse is clutching the workbench with one hand to stay upright, tears pouring down his cheeks. Hancock isn’t faring much better, one arm wrapped round his stomach, bent double as he fights for enough breath to calm himself. It feels  _ so _ good to laugh like this, and once they’ve caught their breath enough, they clutch each other’s arms in a brotherly gesture. 

“You’re all right,” Hancock tells him, and Danse has to admit that this ghoul, while he can certainly push Danse’s buttons, isn’t so bad himself. 

“So you’ve got the hots for Nora, huh? I don’t blame ya. She has that effect on a lotta people.”

Danse balks while Hancock lights up a cigarette and leans against the workstation. 

“It’s not like that,” Danse says, flustered. “I— She’s helped me a lot and I’m grateful, it’s not that I’m… I mean, I  _ like _ her, but I don’t just want to-“

“Hit it and quit it?”

“ _ Hancock! _ ”

“Well that’s what you meant, ain’t it? You wanna make a go of something with her?

“I…” God help him, he does. He wants it so badly he aches. The answer must be plain in his expression because Hancock nods like Danse has effectively declared his undying devotion. 

“Look, tin can, I like ya, I do. And Nora’s one of the best people I know. But she’s a good friend and I don’t wanna sound like I’m tryna get in your way, but she’s got a lot of dirty laundry. I ain’t gonna say more ‘cause it ain’t my place, but I don’t want ya to get yourself into somethin’ ya can’t handle. You feel me?”

“I’m a synth, Hancock.” The words rush out before Danse can rethink them and his heart makes the familiar double skip of panic, but it passes quickly enough. It’s getting easier to admit, now that Nora knows, and Hancock doesn’t seem like the kind to judge. 

The look of shock on his face, however, is actually somewhat satisfying. 

“That’s… Not what I was expectin’ ya to say,” Hancock finally says. “But it’s actually kinda reassuring. I guess you got your own secrets, huh?”

“We’ve spoken about it,” Danse tells him. “Nora and I. She knows and… I know. About the Institute and her son.”

Hancock nods, thoughtful. “Well, that ain’t surprising. She trusts you, which is why you’re still here and not out fending for yourself.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette and sighs out a plume of smoke. “What if that wasn’t everything, though? What if there was more?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Danse says honestly. “I wouldn’t. Not at all. If… I can be forgiven for the things that I’ve done, if I can change and relearn what it means to be…  _ human,  _ then whatever she’s done, or does, or will do, I’d still…”

“What?”

“I’d still love her.”

The words come out like a whisper, but the weight they carry makes them almost deafening. Hancock doesn’t say anything, which Danse appreciates. He needs a moment himself to revel in the confession, to come to terms with the slowly growing feelings he had not yet allowed himself to dwell on. He wrings his hands together, pressing his thumbs into his palms to ground himself. 

“That’s all I can ask.”

Danse looks up at Hancock who isn’t smiling, but there’s a kind of soft acceptance in his face that’s more reassuring than anything else. He tosses his cigarette into a nearby toolbox and Danse lunges for hammer to throw, but Hancock ducks behind the Quantum X-01 suit with a low chuckle. 

“You’re too predictable, tin can,” he calls happily and Danse throws the hammer anyway, pleased with Hancock’s low “ _ damn”  _ when it hits the wall inches from his head. 

“Alright, alright.” He slips out from behind the suit, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll leave ya alone. I just wanted to make sure your intentions were honourable.”

Danse snorts. “What, was this supposed to be the old “you break her heart, I break your legs” talk?”

“Oh, crew cut, I don’t gotta do that. You break her heart, she’ll do that herself.”

“You know, even through that Jet-induced haze, you’re surprisingly insightful.”

“I’m a mentats guy at heart. Gives me that intellectual kick I need so I sound like I know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Should have known it wasn’t natural intelligence.”

“Brother, you  _ wound  _ me.”

—

Days turn into weeks that stretch into months, and it seems like almost no time has passed since Danse found himself in Sanctuary, but at the same time it feels like he’s been here for years. He’s fallen into the routine of it all, the comfort and the hard work, the camaraderie and the fellowship. Nora now calls on him as often as Hancock and Nick to travel with her, and on their journeys Danse is introduced to others who also seem to love Nora as much as everyone else at the settlements do. 

There’s Piper the Diamond City reporter, who’s sassy and witty, but incredibly nosy. Cait the feisty fighter who’s always ready to throw down and actually frightens Danse a little bit with how quickly she shifts between intimidation and flirtation. And Deacon, who changes his face and clothes so often that Danse introduces himself three times before he catches on. 

He’s never met so many different people, all with different likes and dislikes, who all gravitate towards someone so similarly. Nora easily inspires a kind of loyalty that’s otherwise hard won and hard kept, but Danse isn’t surprised. He himself gravitated towards her almost from the moment they met, trusted her the way he’d trusted nobody since Cutler. 

The conversation he had with Hancock weighs heavily on his mind for almost all his waking hours. Usually his work is enough to occupy his mind so well he doesn’t think of anything, but this captures his full attention so demandingly it’s hard to focus on much else. 

He’s inexperienced, to say the least. He doesn’t know how to reach out, or even where to begin. There never seems to be a right time to broach the subject, even when he and Nora are alone in the warehouse and listening to the radio while they work, or bunking down in shelter to wait out heavy rainfall. 

He thinks himself a coward, but that might be a little harsh. He’s never done this before. In previous experiences, his partners were a lot more… forthcoming. They usually instigated and Danse didn’t have to do much else but agree. With Nora, it feels more delicate. Like he has a lot more to lose if it goes wrong. 

So he stays quiet. Like an idiot. With Hancock throwing him meaningful glances every chance he gets. 

“I think Hancock has a thing for you,” Nora says one morning, causing Danse to start so violently he hits his head on the arm of the T-51 armour she has asked him to look at. Nora snorts in amusement and he scowls at her with no real heat as he rubs the injured area. 

“What in the hell makes you say that?” Danse asks. Sure, Danse is a lot less prejudiced towards ghouls, but Hancock is a special case. They’re entire friendship revolves around insulting each other. The idea of anything  _ romantic _ between them honestly makes him a little queasy. 

“He’s always looking at you, like he’s trying to get your attention. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Honestly, I usually try to ignore him. I really don’t think he does.”

“I wonder why he’s been so fixated on you, then.”

Danse shrugs. “He wants to annoy me?”

“Yeah, maybe…”

Nora falls silent, screwing a bolt into place as she finishes repairing a chest plate. “I was wondering, actually… You’ve been here a good few months. You’ve settled in, everyone’s so fond of you and you’ve caught a few eyes. Is there… Anyone you like?”

Danse blinks. “I like everyone here. They’re hard working and genuine.”

“No, I mean,” Nora rolls her eyes like he’s intentionally missing the point. “Is there anyone you  _ like.  _ You know.  _ Romantically _ .”

Oh. 

Fuck. 

“I, uh…” Danse flounders, utterly blindsided. He doesn’t want to lie, but he’s so unprepared he doesn’t know what else to do. “I… haven’t really been looking. I’ve just… Been trying to sort myself out. Get back on my feet, you know?”

“That’s fair.” Nora puts her screwdriver down sharply. It clicks loudly against the work surface and Danse frowns at the uncharacteristic show of force. “I guess in time, maybe you’ll find someone.”

“Yes, maybe…”

“Hand me that wrench.”

Danse does so, unable to shake the feeling he’s said the wrong thing. 

—

A week or so later, Danse is rudely woken by something hitting him in the face. He jerks away, looking around blearily before his eyes focus on Nora’s grinning face, his pack hanging from her hand. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We’re going to Goodneighbor. Hancock’s feeling homesick and I think the change of scenery will do you some good.”

Danse nods, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, fine… Any reason for the rude wake up call?”

“I called your name, like, ten times and you just kept snoring.”

“I don’t  _ snore. _ ”

“Yeah, you do, Dansey. Come on, pack up. I wanna get out of here before noon.” She chucks the pack on his bed and heads out while Danse stares after her in confusion. 

He’d thought she was angry with him. Surely she wouldn’t ask him to come along if she was?

“Don’t think too hard, crew cut. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Danse groans and flops back down onto the bed, pulling a pillow over his face. “It’s like you  _ want  _ me to kill you.”

“Come again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you being a li’l bitch.”

Danse throws the pillow in the vague direction of Hancock’s voice. Judging from the laugh, he misses badly. 

“Come on, tin can. What’d you do? Why’s Nora pissed at you?”

Danse sags in defeat. “She is?”

“Nah, you’d know about it if she was. She’s just a little disappointed. So what happened? You try it on and couldn’t get it up?”

“No, that’s just a you problem.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Dansey’s feisty in the mornin’!”

Danse scowls and hauls himself out of bed, ignoring Hancock’s wolf whistle as he digs around for some clean clothes. The ghoul is leaning in the doorway to his bedroom, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He looks completely relaxed, and Danse wonders mournfully when he lost his edge. Used to be ghouls and civilians would be at least  _ slightly _ afraid of him. He supposes the absence of power armour makes him look a little softer around the edges. 

“I said I hadn’t been looking for someone in a romantic capacity. That was all. I don’t know why she would be angry about that.”

Hancock sighs like Danse is a particularly slow child. “She gave you a fuckin’ window, crew cut. And you just wandered right past it like the oblivious moron you are.”

Danse bristles at that. “Easy, ghoul.”

“Man, how could you not see that?! She’s askin’ you if you got the hots for anyone and you say no and she gets pissy,  _ obviously _ it’s ‘cause she’s into you. God, you’re pretty, but you’re goddamn stupid.”

Danse doesn’t have the slightest notion of how to respond to that. It’s logical, for Hankcock, even at the same time it really isn’t, which is also par for the course with the ghoul. The majority part of him dearly wants to just accept that as fact, that Nora was actually trying to indicate interest and Danse just stumbled past it obliviously. But at the same time there’s nothing as unpredictable as emotion, and the chances of rejection are still too high, the outcome still too unsure, for Danse to just take a chance.

“Let it go, Hancock,” Danse says instead of anything else. “At least let me get dressed before you start hounding me.”

“Alright, whatever.” Hancock pushes away from the doorframe. “Meet’cha at the gate when you’re ready. God, this little jaunt’s gonna be hell with the two of you pining after each other. Ain’t nobody ever listens to ol’ Hancock, even when he’s right.”

Danse rolls his eyes, waiting until the ghoul’s mumbling fades out of hearing range to dress proper and make himself look as presentable as he can for the day. His hair has gotten longer than it has been since… Well, since the institute planted him wherever. He has no idea how much of his life is true memory or fabricated anymore, so it’s hard to say if the person he is now has ever had hair this long. He rubs his eyes, too tired to get this existential in the morning. He’ll get a proper haircut the next opportunity he gets. He doesn’t trust himself not to accidentally cut in a bald spot and he’d rather not ask Nora to wield scissors near him while she’s supposedly angry at him.

He washes his face and smooths his hair back as best he can, hauling his pack up over his shoulder and heading out. He’s hoping the trip won’t be as bad as Hancock is making it sound, but even so the all too familiar sense of anxiety curls through his chest, pulse thudding distractingly in his ears.

True to his word, Hancock is waiting by the gate, Nora beside him. She offers him a warm smile all the same, though there’s a slight tightening around her eyes that Danse feels inexplicably responsible for. Damn Hancock for getting in his head. Nora surely knows Danse didn’t mean to hurt her. Maybe he can chalk it up to being absolutely clueless when it comes to personal relationships. 

“Ready?” Nora asks, hitching her own pack up onto her shoulders. Danse nods and Hancock gives an agreeable grunt and they head out, leaving Sanctuary behind.

—

Despite his intuitive misgivings and Hancock’s badly time jibes, the journey goes about as well as it could have. They run into a group of super mutants just on the outskirts of downtown Boston, but the three of them hold up exceptionally under fire. Hancock is a good guy to have watching your back, even Danse has to admit, albeit begrudgingly. Though he does have an alarming tendency not to use available cover; Nora has to yank him back behind a broken partition before he takes a mini nuke to the face, and Danse takes the opportunity to pop out of cover once the projectile sails past, hitting the mutant in the face with a high-intensity concentrated blast of his laser rifle. They pick the rest off easily, but Danse can’t help elbowing Hancock hard in the ribs for being so careless.

If he were still a Paladin, he’d have some choice words to say if one of his subordinates had ever acted like that in the field. Now he quips that the nuke might have made an improvement on Hancock’s face if it had hit, to which both Nora and the ghoul laugh heartily. The tension eases just as Goodneighbor’s glowing sign comes into view, and the tightness in Danse’s chest lessens considerably. 

And Goodneighbor is… definitely a shithole, but it’s the kind of shithole Danse could probably get used to if he spent an extended amount of time here. Danse understands what Hancock has created as its mayor, a place for anyone, no matter their past or origin, and he respects that. The people he meets seem decent enough, and they all, unsurprisingly, seem to have a soft spot for Nora. As her companion, the warmth of their hospitality extends to him as well, which helps quell the rising chill of being an outsider. 

They let Hancock wander off to do whatever it is he does, which Danse assumes is get high and make bad political decisions, and because of the late hour and how far they’ve come, Nora brings Danse to the Third Rail, which promises a stiff drink and a moment’s respite, if nothing else.

And it’s a decent enough establishment. Nora gets a table with next to no hassle, both the bartender and the singer seeming pleased to see her. Whitechapel Charlie is a little rough but Danse likes how upfront he is. Magnolia is something different entirely. She immediately hoods her eyes and offers Danse a flirtatious greeting which he can’t help but stutter out a response to, but most of all he notices the way Nora tenses minutely beside him. He hates how much he’d like that to be jealousy.

A few drinks into the evening and Magnolia shifts almost seamlessly into her next song, dress sparkling in the low light. Everything is bathed in a sort of soft red glow, and Danse is given a very rare opportunity to just watch Nora, whose attention is fixed on the singer crooning away. It feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t, like he’ll be caught and reprimanded any moment like a misbehaving child, but he just can’t stop himself from looking, taking in all the details of Nora’s face while she’s not paying attention. 

He looks properly at the left side of her beautiful face, dappled with pale skin. It looks like sunlight glinting through leaves, leaving the rest of her face in shadow. It complements her darker skin tone wonderfully, her dark-lined eyes making the pale grey of her irises all the more striking. Her lips are full, and she has the faintest creases at the corner of her eyes that crinkle adorably when she smiles. 

Danse’s gaze must be a little too heavy, because she turns to look at him, expression curious. Danse flushes and looks down at his glass. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, making a vague gesture at his own face. “I was just admir— looking at. Your skin. Not— Not in a creepy way, just. It’s unusual. The light patches. Not that it’s not pretty! I just haven’t seen-“ He takes a long drink to shut himself up. 

Nora, thankfully, doesn’t look offended. She lifts a hand up to touch her cheek, fingers brushing over the largest patch of light skin. “It’s vitiligo,” she tells him. “Loss of pigmentation in the skin. Even before the war it wasn’t very common.”

“It’s beautiful,” Danse says softly and Nora goes a little pink round the ears. “Is it just on your face, or is it the rest of your body, too?”

There’s a pause in which two things happen. Nora’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up almost to her hairline as she registers Danse’s words, and Danse realises what he’s just said, and how incredibly inappropriate it sounded. 

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, face burning. “I didn’t mean— Oh my god, I wasn’t asking— That came out wrong. Can I— I’d like to retract that question and blame it on the alcohol. Can I, please?”

He covers his face with his hands, ready to either die of embarrassment or make a break for it. The high, gentle sound of Nora’s laughter makes him peek between spread fingers, and he thinks maybe he won’t have to do either.

“Yes,” she says between giggles, eyes sparkling with amusement. Danse sighs in relief and lowers his hands. 

“Thank you. I really didn’t mean-“

“No, Danse.” Nora quirks a brow and her smile turns mischievous. “It is. It’s not just on my face.”

Danse chokes and tries to cover it with a cough. “Oh, it— It is. That’s. Fascinating. Um. I wasn’t. I didn’t… I retracted the question,” he finishes weakly. 

“Well, you seemed genuinely curious about what my body looked like, I figured-“

“ _ Nora! _ ”

Danse’s scandalised exclamation makes her fall about again, and he resists the urge to slam his head down onto the table. Instead he mumbles something about getting them more drinks and slinks up to the bar like a wounded animal. 

“You look like yer ‘avin’ trouble with the ladies, mate,” Whitechapel Charlie says as Danse sags against the bartop. 

“Just one in particular,” Danse mutters, kneading his forehead with the heel of his hand. Charlie’s low laugh is rough but thankfully not mockingly so.

“If it’s our Nora you’re after, you’ve chosen a right special target.”

Danse heaves a sigh. “So I’m starting to realise. Also seeing as everyone seems to delight in telling me how obvious it is, would you mind explaining to me, Charlie, if it’s that obvious to everyone else that I’m interested, how come she hasn’t noticed?”

Charlie’s motors whir as he refills their glasses. “Bugger if I know, mate. They say it’s easier to see from the outside lookin’ in, though, don’t they?” 

“Do they?”

“I’m a bartender, not a therapist.”

Danse huffs, digging through his pockets for caps for the drinks. “Oh, actually, put it on Hancock’s tab.”

“Will do.” Charlie sounds amused. “I reckon you just need a good kick up the arse to get yerself in gear and stop muckin’ about like a lovesick moron. If the way she’s currently admiring yer backside is any indication, I think it might be easier ‘n you’re expectin’.”

Danse stiffens. “My what? She’s  _ what? _ ”

“I’ve got three eyes, mate. I see plenty.”

“Charlie, be serious, please!”

“Sod off, I’ve got other customers to serve rather than ‘elp you with yer love life.”

Which is true, but Danse is still frantic for some sort of advice. If he goes back to their table now, he’ll probably say something stupid and ruin their friendship for good. He’s never been spontaneous, even in those rare moments when he wanted to be, he couldn’t make a bold, sweeping declaration of affection without sounding like a stuttering moron. Danse is many things, but suave is not one of them. He is, however, unfailingly earnest. Which might work to his advantage.

He takes their drinks over and Nora thanks him, cheeks still tinged pink from laughter and the alcohol. She looks absolutely beautiful and Danse thinks he might go insane if he keeps his mouth shut any longer.

He downs his drink - liquid courage - and opens his mouth to say something,  _ anything,  _ to break this awful tension still hanging between them. Nora looks at him expectantly, eyebrows raised and Danse… Can’t say anything. He sits there like an idiot, mouth hanging open, no words coming out. He doesn’t even know where to start. 

“I…” He swallows, mouth snapping shut uselessly. “Mhh…”

“Everything okay, Danse?” Nora’s expression slips into one of concern and Danse wants to slide off his chair and hide under the table. He needs to be honest. He needs to be honest and he needs to stop hiding behind deference and excuses. He was never a coward before. But there’s something a lot more terrifying about bearing your guarded heart than gunning down a swarm of ferals. Weirdly enough. 

“I need… To get some air,” Danse mumbles. “Would you mind stepping outside with me?”

Nora nods, face still pinched with concern and Danse hates that he’s making her worry, but he can’t help the low surge of pleasure that prickles down his spine because she cares enough to worry over him. But that’s just who Nora is, caring through and through. It’s part of why Danse loves her so much. 

They slip out of the bar into the cool night air and Danse takes a deep breath that makes his head swim alarmingly. Cold air and alcohol don’t mix and he slumps against the wall with a grunt.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asks and Danse looks up to see her standing barely two feet away from him, arms folded and expression firm but worried. “I’ve seen you match Hancock nearly drink for drink before, so what’s got you so out of sorts tonight?”

“I just have some stuff on my mind,” Danse mumbles. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

Nora’s expression softens. She reaches out and touches his arm gently, reassuringly. The heat from her palm burns through his shirt and he takes an unsteady breath in response. “You can always talk to me,” she tells him earnestly. 

“I know.” Danse offers her a weak smile. “I’m just not sure how.” He sighs and lets his head fall down, chin to chest. “You’ve done so much for me,” he says towards the ground, unable to look up. “I honestly don’t know where I would be without you.”

“Danse…”

“Please, let me finish.” He swallows hard. “I’m more than grateful for what you’ve done and I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness. And I know you’d never expect anything in return, but I can’t help wanting to even the score a little. And it’s killing me right now because after everything you’ve done, I lied to you. And I’m sorry. And if you’re willing to listen, I’d like to tell you the truth now.”

Nora says nothing. Danse takes that as permission to continue and once he does, the words won’t stop coming. For better or worse, it’s time to come clean. “When you asked me the other day if I…  _ liked  _ anyone. I told you I wasn’t looking, which was true, but it wasn’t the honesty that you deserved. I was just too much of a coward to say anything. Because I haven’t been looking, that much is true, but there is someone. Someone I respect more than anyone I’ve ever met, who gains loyalty through trust and kindness. And I didn’t expect it to happen, but thinking about it now I don’t see how it could ever have not come to this.” Finally Danse looks up and Nora’s eyes are wide and very, very bright. “I love you, Nora. I don’t for a second expect you to feel the same, but I want you to know because… It’s the truth. And I want you to feel no pressure from me to return my feelings, but I… I have to be honest. You deserve that and— And even if you don’t feel that way about me, I wanted you to know. But the last thing I want is for this to come between our friendship. You mean too much to me for—“

“Danse,” Nora says again, softly. “You’re rambling.”

“I am,” Danse agrees, nodding somewhat frantically. “Yes. I’ll— That’s. That’s all. I’m done.”

And cue the abrupt, visceral surge of panic suddenly clawing its way up Danse’s throat. Oh,  _ God,  _ did he actually just say all of that?! Out  _ loud _ ? For the second time today Danse finds himself calculating his quickest escape route. A good run-up and he’d be able to clear the gate, probably. Then it’s just a straight shot into super mutant-infested territory that he may well die trying to navigate.

So far, no downsides to the escape plan. 

But Nora has a firm hand on his bicep, fingers curled into his shirt, and there’s no way in hell Danse would ever pull away from her; could never bring himself to. And almost as though he’s taken a hit of Jet, everything around him slows down to a crawl. He feels Nora’s other hand against his cheek, feels the touch grow finger by finger as five separate bands of gentle warmth settle against his already flushed skin. There’s soft but insistent pressure there, and he turns his head towards her obediently, and then he has an uninterrupted view of her beautiful face for five whole seconds that manage to span an eternity. 

And then the eternity ends. And then Nora’s beautifully unique face is blurring alarmingly and Danse wonders absurdly if he’s going blind. And then he realises that he’s not going blind, Nora has just leaned in to kiss him, and he still has his eyes open like an idiot. 

And. And. And—

_!!! _

Nora is  _ kissing him.  _ Soft lips are brushing gently over his, warm and full and  _ perfect _ . There’s a split second where she pulls away, barely an inch back, stormy grey eyes searching Danse’s own for something she must find but whatever it is Danse doesn’t  _ care,  _ because that brief second of contact is enough to flick some kind of switch inside him - and that may very well be a literal description, he’s not entirely sure what his insides look like actually - and he pulls Nora close with an arm round her waist, hand pressed tight to the small of her back and she arches into him with the softest of pleased gasps that Danse will remember the sound of for the rest of his life. 

When they kiss again, it’s no exaggeration to say that Danse melts into it mind, body, and soul. Nora’s slender fingers are curling into the long and unkempt curls at the nape of his neck, the other arm wrapped tight round his shoulders. She’s up on her tiptoes, Danse can feel the unsteady distribution of her balance in the way she sways into him, muscles trembling as she pushes up to meet him almost forcefully. There’s not much difference between their heights, but the way she’s desperately trying to push herself closer to him, holding him so tightly it’s even harder to draw breath, is gratifying in a way that licks across Danse’s nerves like fire. 

They part when the urge to breathe overpowers the urge to stay together, and they lean their foreheads against one another’s while they catch the breath that passes hot and unsteady between them. Nora’s eyes flick up to Danse’s after a long moment and she can’t seem to stop the wide, giddy smile that sweeps across her face, so wide that it crinkles her eyes adorably. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” she murmurs and Danse resists the urge to crow victoriously like some kind of lunatic. Instead he kisses the tip of her nose, and the way Nora’s face flushes is both hopelessly cute and endearingly funny. 

“I love you,” Danse says because there’s nothing else he wants to say, nothing else he  _ needs _ to say, though he’s giddy about the fact that they have time now, to just talk, the way they always have, but now this something that was building between them has broken down the last barrier between their hearts and Danse feels like  _ this _ is what it means to know someone, to give them all of you, and have it treasured rather than tossed away. 

Then Nora tugs at his collar to pull him down so she can kiss his cheek and says, emphatically, “I love  _ you, _ ” and Danse can’t help but blurt out the first thing that pops into his love-struck mind. 

“Out _ standing _ .”

Nora’s laughter echoes through the neon-lit alleyways of Goodneighbor. 

—

Danse would dearly love to maintain the belief that he is a man of self-control and discipline. His life, before Sanctuary and before Nora, has been one of stringent self-denial and ruthless self-sacrifice for the good of the Brotherhood, and while he’s not nearly as self-regulating as he used to be, he calls upon every scrap of self-control left in his body, and bids Nora goodnight at her room in the Rexford, before returning to his own. 

She stands in the doorway, her hand in his, and she looks a little confused when he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it, before regretfully letting go and stepping back, telling her to sleep well. 

She watches him head down the hall to his room, he can feel the weight of her gaze on his back as he goes, but he doesn’t give in and slips into his own room and shuts the door, leaning heavily against it. He feels jittery, giddy, frantically excitable and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh until he cries or climb onto the rooftops and yell victory at the heavens. He does neither, just stays leaning against the door for a good ten minutes, grinning like an absolute fool. 

He wants to be in Nora’s room with her, wants that desperately, wants her to have all of him with nothing held back. But he’s just not ready. And that’s okay, he thinks with a surety born of confidence that Nora helped him find, and he’ll get there, but it’s going to take a little more time before he’s ready to take that leap with her. 

That, and Danse is… Well. Quite loud, when the mood is right. He’d prefer it if they could… be together somewhere more familiar. Like home. Yes, that’s what he wants.

Danse takes himself to bed even though the urge to go back to Nora’s room is nearly overpowering. He lies down and stares at the ceiling, still smiling ridiculously, and as much as he wants to, he doesn’t let himself dwell for too long on the memory of feeling Nora in his arms. There will be time enough for that later. Just like there will be time for him to actually feel her in his arms again, once they’re home and alone. 

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about the sound of her voice, the surety in her tone, and the way she’d said “I love you.”

Danse falls asleep, as he has countless times now, with Nora’s face in his thoughts. 

—

Hancock doesn’t return with them to Sanctuary. There’s no fanfare about it, though Nora does look a little disappointed to be parting with her friend. He just throws it casually out, says that he’s got “some business to tend to” here in his rough constituency, and that’s that, though even Danse is a little crestfallen to be leaving the ghoul behind. 

They stick around long enough to pick up some junk - and Danse isn’t even being facetious here, it’s literally junk - from Daisy, and replenish their ammo reserves at KL-E-0’s, before heading out, and Danse is even a little sad to be leaving Goodneighbor, because it’ll forever hold a special place in his heart now, even if the dark liquids seeping into the grates on the ground are probably blood and other disgusting fluids. 

The journey home is a lot quicker this time around, mainly because they don’t have to stop ever thirty or so feet to clear out another group of super mutants. Whatever militant roles they uphold clearly aren’t organised enough to regroup that quickly, which is a blessing, quite frankly. And though their return journey isn’t as long, Danse isn’t actually in a hurry to get home. And neither, it seems, is Nora. 

They follow the river for part of the way, northeast of the bay towards Diamond City. They avoid passing over a few of the bridges, a couple out of necessity, others out of choice, mainly due to the fact that, of the ones that don’t have raiders hiding behind cars, you can never be too sure whether or not you might accidentally step on some kind of mine. Nora says she knows the best bridge to cross and Danse is hardly going to disagree with her, not when there’s just the two of them, boots on the ground, guns at the ready, talking to pass the time. 

And while they walk, they talk, and Danse listens and learns. He learns that Nora was a lawyer, whatever that is, before the bombs fell and that she had passed the bar - Danse nods like he knows what any of this means - when she was young so she had to work twice as hard to prove herself before she’d get assigned any good cases, but once she did she flew high, and she was a highly sought after attorney. 

She catches on pretty quick that Danse is clueless about her previous profession, but she only laughs and then spends a few minutes explaining what a lawyer is, what she did, some of the cases she worked on, and then she talks about her hobbies and interests outside of work, meeting her husband, having her son. She speaks about them casually, lightly, but there’s a tightness in her eyes that makes Danse’s heart ache. 

Nora, astute as she is, can tell that Danse wants to offer something of himself while they talk, and rather than put him on the spot, she turns it into a game. One question each per round, freely answered or passed, in turn as they walk. Danse is grateful, and for every question he answers, the reward is Nora’s complete attention and the delight she seems to find in learning more about him.

He tells her about the Capital Wasteland, about selling scrap for caps to buy food. It doesn’t feel dishonest, because the memories are so vivid, even if they aren’t truly his, whoever they belonged to is gone, so who else will remember their struggles if he doesn’t? He tells her about the Brotherhood, about his initiate days, about Cutler. He tells her about his first freefall in power armour, about the first time he led his own recon team, about his promotion to Paladin. He tells her about the food fight he started in the mess hall shortly after he enlisted, and the punishment he got after and how it was worth it for the way it won the approval of his brothers and sisters in the Brotherhood. He tells her, haltingly, of his outing as a Synth, about how, just after the explosion tore through the C.I.T ruins, a team had been dispatched to recover anything they could from the wreckage of the Institute. He tells her, with a heavy heart, about the broadcast Elder Maxson had sent out, no preamble, no explanations. Just a single message, to all Brotherhood members, to kill on sight the synth designated M7-97, DN-407P, formerly known as Danse. 

Danse had been groundside when he’d received the notification that he was now a target. He remembers feeling numb, confused. Ironically, it had been that damning message from Maxson that saved his life. He’d retreated to Listening Post Bravo as soon as he could. He’d gone to ground for almost a fortnight before he dared to venture out for food and water after his reserves ran dry. Then barely a week later, he’d found Nora; he’d been saved. 

It’s after that mumbled confession that Nora shoulders her rifle and reaches out to take Danse’s hand. The touch soothes the old hurt considerably, and they continue on like that, hand in hand, until they cross into Concord, and Sanctuary creeps into view in the distance. The sight of it stirs a long-forgotten feeling to life in Danse’s chest. The relief of coming home. It’s a heady thing indeed. 

And then they see it, and Danse’s knees buckle as though all the bones inside have liquified. Nora swears sharply and catches him by the arm before he hits the ground, and her firm hand is the only thing keeping his limp body upright. 

Just across the bridge, docked on the outskirts of Sanctuary, is a Vertibird. 


	5. Chapter 5

Hiding feels wrong.

Danse has been many things but a coward is not one of them. He’s never backed down from a challenge, though he’s learned to pick his battles wisely, and his time in the Brotherhood taught him how to use fear to his advantage. He knows how to be cautious, but as a soldier, as a Paladin, he never  _ ever  _ hid and let others take the fall for him. 

Which is why his skin is crawling while he waits for Nora to return and tell him it’s safe for him to come out of cover. 

Granted he hadn’t been much use once he’d caught sight of the airship. Nora had to drag him down and out of the open, herding him round the far side of Sanctuary, down into the muddy incline she’d found him half-dead in over a year ago. From there she’d hauled him into the settlement and stuffed him into their warehouse, his constant safe haven, and told him not to come out until she came to get him. With a quick kiss to his forehead, she’d bolted the door and he’d listened to her rapidly retreating footsteps while trying to calm his frantic heart. 

From here he can’t hear anything, and it’s a unique kind of torture that he can’t face the Brotherhood at her side. Because if there’s anyone who could give him the strength to face down his old brothers-in-arms, it’s her. 

Which is why Danse, who is  _ not  _ a coward, disobeys Nora for the first time and unlocks the warehouse door, slipping out silently and creeping towards the settlement’s entry bridge. He keeps to the shadows of the buildings and ruined hedges, carefully out of sight, and the adrenaline coursing through his body manages to stay the panic. For now.

He stops when he has a good enough view of Nora, who pushes through the assembled crowd of settlers, until she’s standing in front of a Paladin Danse won’t recognise until they speak. The line of her jaw is hard and raised in clear defiance, eyes hard and cold, and  _ this _ is the General of the Minutemen, the destroyer of the Institute, the sole survivor of a time before the bombs fell. She stands a foot shorter than the Paladin leading the formation, but despite the height difference, it’s Nora who looks more terrifying of the two. 

Danse’s skin prickles when she speaks. 

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” she says coolly, an unpleasant smile stretching thinly across her face, “given how heavily armed you are, that you’re not here for trouble.”

“Our intentions are peaceful,” the Paladin says with a crafted, calculatedly disrespectful drawl. Danse shoves his fist against his mouth to muffle his shocked exclamation because he  _ knows  _ that voice. It’s a voice he hadn’t expected to hear coming from the speaker relay of a suit of power armour for another good few years. 

It’s Rhys, a Knight Danse has trained himself, promoted to Paladin already and for all the world Danse cannot understand  _ why.  _

Rhys is loyal, sure. He’s determined and tenacious and if you cut him he would bleed Brotherhood. But he’s also arrogant and cocky and bad-tempered and there’s a  _ reason _ Danse never sponsored him to rise higher than a Knight while he was part of Recon Team Gladiolus. He’s a wild card, and he’s probably one of the  _ worst  _ people to be heading whatever stupid mission this team are supposed to be completing. 

Unless their intentions aren’t actually peaceful. 

Danse’s muscles brace as if for impact. 

“We’re conducting a routine patrol nearby,” Rhys continues haughtily. “We’re notifying all settlements in the immediate vicinity of our presence to prevent… Unwanted casualties.”

_ Bastard,  _ Danse thinks savagely.  _ Liar _ . 

Nora isn’t buying the shit Rhys is shovelling and Danse wants to cheer when she folds her arms, planting herself immovably in front of the three Knights flanking Rhys, and the four scribes behind them. She lifts her chin, making a thoughtful sound that edges into mockery. 

“You make it sound like you expect heavy resistance to your presence,” Nora says pointedly. “Do you normally have peaceful settlements taking up arms against you?”

“Not at all,” Rhys replies, his thin veneer of cooperative taciturnity creeping toward impatience. “We simply ask that those nearby check their fire while we operate within the vicinity. We’re here to make the Commonwealth safer, and appreciate your assistance while we do so.”

Nora actually snorts. “Big talk from the people who flew in on a  _ warship. _ ” The settlers behind her murmur their agreement and Danse knows, with awful certainty, that every single one of them would draw their weapons if Nora gave the order. He can’t let it get that far. He has to do something before it comes to that. 

Rhys takes a step forward and though the settlers all seem to tense as one, Nora doesn’t so much as blink. She only lifts her head even higher to look up at him while they face off silently, both waiting for the other to make the wrong move. 

“The Brotherhood respectfully requests that you allow us to move unimpeded through this area.” Rhys’ tone is starting to fray. He sounds angry and Danse is  _ terrified _ . “As I said, we want to avoid any conflict with the local residents. All we ask is that you keep out of our way.”

Nora smiles and this time, it’s all teeth. She looks to be taking some sort of vindictive pleasure from getting so obviously under Rhys’ skin. Danse is  _ really  _ trying not to find that attractive. “The Brotherhood has a reputation,” Nora comments with an almost bored kilt to her words. “State your intentions plainly, or leave. If you want cooperation, you need to be more forthcoming,  _ Paladin. _ ” Somehow she manages to make the rank sound like an insult. 

Rhys bristles, visible even hidden by his armour. “Not that it’s any business of yours,  _ civilian,  _ but we’re conducting a research patrol near the Concord area. We are alerting all nearby settlements to be aware that we have air and ground support. To avoid any unnecessary conflict, you understand. We’re also asking each settlement to contribute a small amount of provisions for the duration of our patrol, in return for our protection, should you require it.”

Of course. Extorting the people for the  _ benefit of the Brotherhood.  _ Always only the benefit of the Brotherhood. Never for mankind, as they always touted, as Danse had once so foolishly believed. 

Nora still isn’t buying it. She flashes a relaxed smile anyway. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? And I appreciate the foreknowledge.  _ We  _ appreciate the foreknowledge.” Her smile turns sharp. “However, we aren’t in need of protection. What we do need are the crops we put a lot of hard work into growing, and the resources we’ve laboured to produce. We’re a large settlement. We haven’t a lot to spare.”

Rhys reaches up and the staccato clicks of settlers reaching for their weapons echoes through the settlement, halted only by Nora’s raised hand. A tense beat passes and then Rhys finishes his movement, unclipping the fastenings of his helmet and removing it slowly. He looks the same as always, save a new scar across his right cheek and the new hardness in his eyes. He looks furious though he’s trying to hide it, unsuccessfully. Danse can understand that. The Brotherhood are used to a certain amount of compliance from all peoples. When encountering resistance, the Brotherhood’s credo is clear. 

“We understand that it may be slightly inconvenient to contribute, but the protection we offer is worth it,” Rhys bites out, and Danse wonders how much of this flimsy posturing he’s prepared to endure before he snaps and turns this altercation into a bloodbath. 

Though… It might not be Rhys who draws first blood. Nora scoffs in his face - a dangerous move - and snaps back at him with an unmistakable warning in her words. “You’re making it sound like we don’t have a choice in the matter. I’m telling you; we will not contribute.”

The Paladin shifts in place. The settlers hold their breaths, Danse included, and he knows their hands are tightening on their weapons. “That is unfortunate,” Rhys says through his teeth. “You understand we cannot guarantee your safety.”

“We do,” Nora replies pleasantly. “We guarantee our own safety. But you understand, this settlement is home to humans, ghouls, and synths alike. There is no room here for bigots or fanatics. Not to cause undue offence, Paladin, but not everyone shares your beliefs, and while I guard this settlement, no member of the Brotherhood is welcome here.”

Tension crackles through the air. No one breathes.

“As you say,” Rhys seethes, fighting to keep his voice level. “Not everyone shares our beliefs. We appreciate your time.”

Nobody moves as the patrol begins to file out and Danse dares to let a stirring of relief creep through his chest. Nora’s pale eyes watch the patrol go. It isn’t until it’s too late to act that Danse realises she’s not done yet. 

“Did any of you mourn?” She calls after the group.

Oh no. Oh  _ no.  _

Not for him. She can’t risk everything for him, he won’t let her.

Rhys pauses in putting his helmet back on. “Excuse me?”

“I said, did any of you mourn?” Nora repeats. “When you received the news that Paladin Danse had been marked for death. Did anybody stop to question it? Or did you all follow blindly like the sheep that you are?”

Rhys looks outraged. There isn’t a scrap of false benevolence left on his face. “You know  _ nothing _ of our ways,” he barks at her, turning back to face her. “Mind your  _ place _ , civilian.”

“I know enough,” Nora shoots back, and the settlers at her back are nodding and Danse feels both horrified and elated in equal measure, sick with it, dizzy with it. “And I am not a civilian. I am the General of the Minutemen and I  _ will  _ be treated as such!” Nora’s shouting now, voice raising with every word. “Danse was a  _ good man _ ! He was your brother in arms, a devoted soldier and he was cast out for a crime he didn’t commit, nor should it have ever been considered one! You were his  _ family- _ “

“I said watch your tone, civilian-“

“He was your  _ equal _ !” Nora bellows, resplendent in her fury. “He deserved  _ better _ than he got. He didn’t  _ betray _ the Brotherhood.  _ The Brotherhood betrayed him _ !”

Had it happened differently, Danse might have spent a few more seconds thinking before he acted. Had Rhys not been in power armour, Danse might not have reacted so strongly. But the way it happens, the way Danse remembers it happening, mean that he has no choice but to do what he does, and it’s  _ his _ actions, not Rhys’, that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Because three things happen that cause Danse to break cover and reveal himself to the Brotherhood in a blaze of abject fury. 

First, Rhys backhands Nora across the face. In full power armour, full force, closed fist. 

Second, Nora hits the ground. And for the scant few seconds Danse has before his body forces him to act, he cannot see her moving, or breathing. 

Third, Rhys draws his rifle, and so do the Knights accompanying him. 

So blinded by rage, Danse acts. 

And Danse is not a coward. And Danse is not a civilian. Down to his bones, to the root of his being, regardless of where he came from, Danse is a soldier. But more than that now, Danse is a  _ survivor.  _ And Danse is a man in love; a man who comes from nothing - the product of arrogant scientists in an insidious underground lab - who has lost  _ everything _ , regained it, and come too close to losing it again. 

So Danse surges forward and draws his rifle. He draws it and he aims it and sped by rage and adrenaline, Danse fires a wild torrent of concentrated blasts right at Rhys’ suit’s fusion core before the Paladin can even lower the hand that struck Nora down.

Danse’s aim is unerring and lethal. Danse’s world is fire and pain, and then—

Nothing. 

—

He comes to gradually, piece by piece, consciousness filtering through cupped palms, slipping through clasped fingers like water. The first thing he’s aware of is pain. It’s not unbearable - more of a dull ache than the fierce burn he was expecting - kept at bay by what must be a considerable dose of Med-X. 

The second thing he’s aware of is voices. Low, soft voices that he dimly recognised but cannot place just yet. He can’t make out what they’re saying, until he hears his name, and then there’s a warm palm against his right cheek, prompting him to try and peel open his heavy eyelids. 

Relief is even headier than the drugs and it’s because the face that swims into view, blurry but unmistakable, is Nora’s. She looks exhausted and worried, and there’s a shock of white against the chestnut skin of her bare shoulders, and when Danse can focus enough he realises that they are bandages. 

And then Danse remembers. 

“Oh, god,” he chokes out hoarsely. “What have I done?”

Nora is careful when she wraps her arms around him as best she can, but it still twinges Danse’s sore ribs painfully. Even so he still returns the embrace as tightly as he dares, breathing in the soft scent of her hair, tinged faintly with ozone and smoke. 

“You payed first my arrogance,” she whispers into his neck. “You prevented a bloodbath that I nearly caused because I couldn’t control my temper.” Nora pulls back and her icy eyes are wet and shining. “I’m so sorry, Danse.”

“I…” Danse swallows, eyes fixed on an angry welt on Nora’s cheek. The bruise is black, a deep, jagged cut down the centre of it. It’s been sutured closed and covered with butterfly strips, but it still looks awful. The rush of anger the sight of it instils in Danse makes his body throb painfully. “Did anyone get hurt?”

Nora bites her lip. “A few people. No one died— Well. None of ours. A couple were burned and concussed when the blast knocked them back, but that’s the worst of it. You took the brunt of it, or so I’m told. Fractured ribs, burns... You’ll heal, of course, but my god, I was so scared.”

Danse finds her hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses her knuckles, because he can’t think of any other way to comfort her, and because having her skin touching his is the only way he can think to take comfort for himself. “So was I. A blow at close range in power armour… could have killed you.”

Nora leans forward to rest her forehead against his and when she exhales it’s scattered and unsteady. “It was my fault,” she whispers mournfully. “I just… I was so  _ angry,  _ Danse. And I nearly got everyone killed because of it.”

It’s true, Danse wishes it wasn’t, but she’s right. She made a bad call, acted irrationally, and there are consequences to that. But she’s not the one who fired the shot that caused the explosion, that’s on Danse. And there isn’t a person in the history of mankind, Danse is certain, who hasn’t made a bad call once in their life. As reassuring as he would find that sentiment, as an ex-commanding officer with his own share of bad calls, he doesn’t think Nora would appreciate having her mistake confirmed. 

“I’m honoured,” Danse says instead, “that you cared enough to challenge the Brotherhood for me. No one I served with did anything like that. I can’t believe you did, but… at the same time, I wouldn’t expect anything else of you.” He smiles, and the right side of his face twinges painfully, the skin pulling uncomfortably taut and reminding him that he still doesn’t know the true extent of his injuries. It’s a passing worry, and he’s not too concerned by it. Nora would have said if he’d been wounded too badly. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Nora murmurs, leaning back to wipe her eyes. 

“It was intended as such.” Danse let’s his smile slip into something of a more playful smirk. “Though I’m starting to think you might have… more heart than common sense.”

Nora laughs, and though the sound is soft, it’s genuine and that’s all Danse cares about. A year ago, Danse would’ve thought himself above teasing a comrade and above even the concept of friends, since losing Cutler. The Brotherhood had always come first, because if you lost a soldier, it hurt less than losing a loved one. And now… He’s come a long way and, though he’s still got a long way left to go yet, he’s starting to feel different inside. Changed, but for the better. 

“You need to rest.” Nora gently brushes hair back from his forehead. “I’ll wake you in a little while to eat, okay?”

Danse nods. “Yes, ma’am,” he quips and doesn’t give her a mock salute because he’s too sore for that kind of movement right now. But he does hold on to the hand he’d pressed a kiss to, hesitant to let go. “Would…” He swallows and can’t quite lift his eyes to meet hers. “Would you stay? With me? Just for a little while.”

Nora nods at once, which is gratifying, and mindful of his injuries, settles herself down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh. Danse manages to loop an arm around her so she can lean against him, and though it sends a dull roar of pain through his body, he’ll take it if it means he can keep Nora close. 

“Do you think the Brotherhood will retaliate?” She asks quietly after a long moment. She doesn’t sound afraid. 

“Maybe,” Danse hedges, not too keen on thinking about that very real possibility while he aches right down to his bones. Even his  _ eyelashes  _ seem to hurt. “Did the other Knights and scribes get away?”

“Two scribes,” Nora says, resting an arm carefully over Danse’s stomach, away from his ribs. “One of the Knights. The other three: the Knight and the two scribes? They...”

_ Were caught in the explosion _ . She doesn’t have to say it. Danse feels nauseous and it’s not because the Med-X is wearing off. But there’s nothing can be done about that now. 

“Then yes, it’s a real possibility that they might,” Danse murmurs, leaning his cheek against the top of Nora’s head and how does even  _ that  _ hurt? Damn it. “The Brotherhood don’t tolerate attacks against their ranks, whether they’re provoked or not. But…” Danse takes a deep, steadying breath that makes his chest throb. “I know how they operate, what their weaknesses are. Depending on who they send, I’ll know how they fight, too. I can… I can teach you. How to fight them. And how to win.”

Nora says nothing. Danse doesn’t know if she understands exactly what it means for him to freely give up the Brotherhood’s weaknesses. If she does, she thankfully doesn’t comment on it, because that would only make him feel worse. But after everything, it’s long past due for Danse to realise that he’s not Brotherhood anymore, and never will be again. 

_ The enemy of my enemy is my friend, _ Danse thinks wretchedly.  _ But this time, I’m not betraying anyone. I’m not blind, I know exactly what I’m doing.  _

He only sleeps because he’s too exhausted not to. The dreams, when they come, are the worst nightmares he’s had in months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nora: what if I made a really poor decision out of anger  
> Danse: god. Okay. Shit. Fine, alright.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i formally apologise for pretending i could ever stick to an update schedule. i was all “it’s fine! i can have prewritten chapters and post them once a week!” and the entire time i was lying to myself

Danse heals quickly. Barely a month passes before he's given the all clear for light work - nothing too strenuous - and is allowed to leave their roughshod medbay and help out around Sanctuary again. The four settlers who were injured in the altercation with Rhys’ squad don’t bear any animosity toward him. The overall consensus is that Danse’s quick reaction prevented a wide-scale bloodbath, and the probable decimation of their settlement. Everyone seems just as angry about Nora getting hurt as Danse was, and a couple of people even congratulate him for being the one to, quote, “put those bastard tin cans in the dirt”.

Danse smiles thinly through it all and while he’s grateful no one hates him for hurting anyone, the whole incident sits uncomfortably in his chest, burrowed deep and jagged like shrapnel. 

He didn’t get out unscathed of course, mentally or physically. He has burns on the right side of his face and his shoulders that are pink with fresh blisters, but thankfully no infection has set in, and with each day that passes more of the angry welts fade and give way to the new, healthy skin underneath. His ribs have to stay bound for a bit longer, but he’s given one stimpak daily, and a dose of Med-X to keep him comfortable. 

Nora doesn’t talk about what happened, or the conversation she had with Danse about possible retaliation from the Brotherhood. If she’s worried about it she doesn’t show it, neither does she seem to want to bolster the settlements defences in preparation. All she does is help out as normal, in the fields or with scavenging, as though the threat of the Brotherhood’s revenge isn’t a very real concern. 

Things still feel a little strained, though, and Danse is at a loss for a solution to the tightness around Nora’s eyes and the dim quality of her usually vibrant smile. That is, until one of the provisioners brings in fresh candles to replace the ones in the bar that have long since burned away, and has a few to spare that Danse trades from her in exchange for a modded rifle with a sturdier grip. 

He slips away in the early afternoon to make his preparations, commandeers one of the ham radios to call through to Goodneighbor and call in a favour, and thinks himself a bit of a genius. 

When dusk falls, Danse sends Dogmeat to find Nora, and waits inside the warehouse -  _ their  _ warehouse, as he’s come to think of it - with a dizzying mixture of nervous excitement. He doesn’t have to wait long, and not a few minutes after sending the dog out to find his owner, he can hear Nora calling after the animal as she approaches the warehouse. Danse’s heart rate skips into double time. 

“What— Dogmeat, let go! What is it, what’s got you so excited, huh? What’s going on, boy?”

Once she’s close, Danse turns up the volume on the radio and the soft sound of Magnolia’s relaxed alto warbles through the speakers, loud enough for Nora to hear. He waits, holding his breath, as the door to the warehouse cracks open and Nora peers inside. She’s not clad in her usual General’s garb, hasn’t worn it since the incident, and she looks softer in her jumpsuit than she normally does when dressed as the General of the Minutemen. Like this, she’s just Nora, no rank and no titles, and she looks adorably confused when she steps inside proper, takes in the scene before her. But once she does, her eyes widen and her expression drops into one of surprise and, gratifyingly, delight. 

What she sees, what Danse has prepared for them, is a tidied space; toolboxes and workbenches pushed to the side to give them room to move, and candles on almost every available surface. The warehouse is lit up with them, little flickering lights that bath the room in a honey glow, and through the small windows above them, the sky is clear enough that the stars are visible from here. 

Nora blinks, eyes shining in the low light, and when Danse holds out a hand to her, she takes it without hesitation, stepping into his arms willingly so he can lead them in a slow dance across the room. He’s not good at dancing, after all this time he still moves as though he’s encased in steel and circuitry, but most of it is instinctual. The slow sway of hips, the smooth  _ one-two-three  _ of sedately paced steps; it’s almost a biological response, as easy as breathing to let the lazy rhythm of the music cajole their bodies into moving, synchronised and sweet, as one. 

Nora leans her head on his shoulder, forehead nudged against Danse’s neck, and her skin feels flushed and hot where they're touching. She lets go of his hand, only to slide her arms up around his neck and Danse responds instinctively to wind his arms around her waist, until they’re just swaying in place along to the music, lost in a moment of perfect bliss that was a long time in coming. 

To Danse it feels worth the wait. He can only hope that Nora feels the same.

They stay like that, lost in their shared embrace, until Magnolia’s nightly set ends and the helpful party miles away in Goodneighbor shuts off the radio on their end, bathing the warehouse in comforting silence. Danse stills their swaying and they stand together for a few moments longer before Nora lifts her head up to meet his gaze. The smile she gives him small and sweet, made softer by the gentle glow of candlelight. And though her cheeks are wet with tears, she looks— happy. Content. Peaceful. Danse almost doesn’t want to break this fragile peace between them with words, but it has to be said. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her brow. “I… wanted to show you. Somehow. I’m… a bit out of practice— Well. Actually, this is completely new to me, but...“

“You’re a natural,” Nora tells him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “This is… Danse, it’s wonderful. How did you manage to do all this?”

Danse grins. “I convinced Preston to let me borrow the radio and called in a favour from Hancock. As far as I’m aware, he was sat in the Third Rail with his radio’s receiver, since Goodneighbor doesn’t have its own station.” It’s an amusing thought, Hancock hunkered down next to Magnolia’s rudimentary little stage, holding up the tiny receiver and looking thoroughly unimpressed with the whole situation. Still, now Danse owes him a favour, and he fully intends to make good on it, no matter what the ghoul might request of him. 

Well. Within reason. 

Nora shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did all this for me. It’s… It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me since I thawed out.”

Danse makes a mental note to do more of these sorts of things for her. It’s not right that the heroine of the Conmonwealth has become so unused to sweetness and care. After all, she’s not of the wasteland. The comforts of a pre-war life are not so far away for her. Danse just needs to learn a thing or too about romance as a whole and they’ll be golden. 

Although it seems like Danse really does have this whole romance thing down. If there’s one way to describe the look on Nora’s beautiful face right now, it’s that she looks one hundred percent  _ wooed _ . As antiquated as the phrase may be, it fits. 

Or it did. Because from where they’re still pressed chest to chest holding onto each other, Nora moves her leg forward, knee nudging against the inside of Danse’s thighs, and slides it slowly upwards. It catches Danse off-guard, the gentle pressure of her leg between his and… higher. His breath catches in his throat and sudden heat rushes into his cheeks, turning his whole face redder than a tato. Nora’s looking at him, eyes hooded with expectation and— Danse swallows. Wooed suddenly seems like completely the wrong word.  _ Seduced _ may in fact be a better fit. 

And Danse is so far out of his depth, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t  _ want _ . Truth is, he wants badly.  _ Very _ badly. And that quick and hot surge of desire is enough to spur him into action, into pulling Nora tighter against his body, into swooping down to catch her lips with his own in a kiss that ignites along his nerves like fire. Nora’s hands fist in his shirt, accompanied by a soft, gasping moan into his mouth that Danse wants to hear again and again. It’s that desire that has Danse reaching down for the backs of Nora’s thighs and hitching her up, stumbling towards the worktop to set her down on it so he has some kind of leverage to work with as he deepens the kiss. 

It’s an excellent idea, it turns out, because the moment Nora’s set on the worktop, her legs immediately come up to wrap around Danse’s waist, drawing him closer, and her hands are free to tug at his clothes, cup his face, push up into his hair; she can’t seem to decide where she wants to touch him most and that suits Danse just fine, as long as her hands are on him - anywhere - it’s good. And Danse, for his part, can’t decide where he wants to touch her either. His hands start at her waist, his palm sliding round to splay across the small of her back and she arches into him responsively with a pleased sigh. It’s good but not  _ enough _ , so he slides his hands up her back, over her shoulders to her neck and the warm skin there that’s dappled so beautifully with vitiligo, and catches the barrette she always has in her hair. With clumsy but determined fingers he unclasps it and her hair - so much longer and softer than he’d expected - unfurls down her back in deep red waves he absolutely has to card his fingers through. Nora’s response is a shaky moan, almost a purr, and her legs tighten around his waist. She pulls away from his mouth to take an unsteady breath and Danse can’t bear to stop kissing her so he moves his mouth to her jaw, kissing a path across her feverished skin down to her neck where he can’t stop himself from pressing his teeth to her pulse point in a biting kiss. 

In his arms, Nora stiffens with a choked sound. Before Danse can pull back, can apologise for overstepping a boundary, Nora yanks him close by the front of his shirt and bites  _ hard _ at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, just visible beneath his collar where his shirt is pulled taut by her fist. Danse wouldn’t have been able to stop the moan the bite rips out of him if he’d tried, and it’s a low, ragged sound that rumbles through his chest, chased out of him by a sharp frisson of pleasure that coils tight in his abdomen. Intent on absolutely ruining him, Nora follows the bite up with a slow drag of her tongue over the aching skin, and it’s hot and wet and drives Danse half to madness. 

“Can I—“ Danse has to stop to catch his breath, to swallow and try to soothe his rough voice. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to ask for. Anything? Everything? As much as she’s willing to give him and no more, that’s for certain, but Danse is sure that if he doesn’t get his hands on her bare skin in the next thirty seconds, he might actually die. 

And Nora — wonderful,  _ perfect _ Nora — seems to feel the same. She’s nodding before Danse can even get the rest of his half-formed sentence out, hands moving down to the buttons of Danse’s shirt and— Danse gasps, part from the shock and part from the sudden chill as the night air hits his heated skin, because Nora’s ripped his shirt open, spraying popped buttons across the floor, and then her hands are smoothing over chest chest and she looks… Incredibly pleased with herself. 

Danse growls at her. It’s not out of anger, never that, and it’s not even the noise he meant to make, but it’s what comes out of his ragged throat and Nora shivers at the sound of it. She takes one of his hands down from where it’s twined in her hair, moves it to her — oh, God — her chest, where the zipper to her jumpsuit is sat against her breastbone. She closes his fingers around the tab and nudges his hand down and Danse swallows audibly before slowly dragging the zipper down between — oh,  _ God —  _ her breasts, to where it stops at her waist. The first thing he notices are the lighter patches of skin dappling her shoulders and chest, just as she’d said they did. The second thing he notices is that she’s not. Wearing. Underwear. 

Danse is very aware that he’s staring. He’s aware and he absolutely cannot stop himself. Nora’s body, what he can see of it in that enticing V splitting her jumpsuit, is a map of scars, some small, some big, crossing over her torso and disappearing under her clothes. There are bullet scars, blade scars, bruises and faint burns, still healing from the explosion a month ago. Her body is an honest record of her life, of the decisions she’s chosen and the sacrifices she’s made, and Danse loves her so much he aches with it. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes and Nora shivers when he presses a hand against her sternum, feeling the rapid  _ thump-thump  _ of her heartbeat under his palm. She shivers again when he moves back and leans down to replace his palm with his mouth, lips leaving devout prayers and promises against her skin that his words could never come close to conveying. 

She shifts above him as Danse kisses his way down to her abdomen, taking to his knees in front of her, and when he glances up he’s stunned immobile because she’s slipped her jumpsuit off her shoulders and is now bare from the waist up. She winks at him, cheeks flushed and Danse… Is only human. Well, sort of. Figure of speech. He’s weak for her is the point, and he straightens up, watching Nora’s face and waiting for the eager nod she readily gives him before he gently reaches for her. She arches into his touch, into his rough palms as he gently cups the soft skin of her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples and drawing a soft moan from her lips. 

“Danse…” His name said in that way by her is all he ever wants to hear. He touches her again, hands exploring her chest with gentle brushes of his fingertips until he can tell what feels best for her by the way her breathing stutters and her eyes flutter closed. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and Danse, emboldened, pinches her nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger before leaning down to catch it between his lips and drawing out a high, pleased whine from Nora’s throat. Her hands fist in his hair like she can’t stop herself, and the way she tugs sends a shock of pleasure jolting down Danse’s spine. 

“Please,” she gasps, legs trembling. “God, Danse, I can’t—  _ Please. _ ”

How can he refuse her? Why would he even want to? No, Danse would give her anything if she asked for it, and this is no different. He straightens up and is about to ask her what she wants when she hops off the workshop and quickly divests herself of her jumpsuit, shoving it off her hips with jerky, impatient movements. 

This time Danse doesn’t get much of a chance to stare. Before he can admire Nora in all her naked glory, her hands are at his belt and she’s making quick work of getting Danse undressed too. He helps by shedding the ruined scraps of his shirt that he’d almost completely forgotten about and then can’t stop himself from laughing when Nora makes a frustrated sound because he won’t be able to get his pants off without first removing his boots. He appeases her by stepping on the heels of his boots in turn and levering them off rather than bothering with the laces, and then Nora’s yanking his pants down and  _ shit,  _ it’s cold when you’ve got no clothes on. 

Nora doesn’t seem bothered by the chill, at least not consciously. She has goosebumps down her arms but she doesn’t seem to care though she does press herself against Danse, nuzzling into his neck and she’s burning hot everywhere they touch. Danse slips his arms around her slender waist and nudges her head up so he can lick into her mouth in a deep kiss that sparks down his nerves and—  _ God! _

Danse shudders and lets out a choked groan when Nora wraps a hand around the length of him, confident in her movements, stroking him slowly once from base to tip. Danse clenches his jaw against the fierce expletive that threatens to escape and tries not to dig his fingers too hard into her skin, but Nora swipes her thumb over the tip of Danse’s cock, pressing lightly, and his knees nearly buckle. Her expression is smug, pleased, and she leans in to bite softly at his jaw. 

She murmurs something against his throat that he has to strain to hear and it’s lewd enough to make his ears burn despite their current… arrangement. But he’s already promised himself to give her whatever she asks for and so he lifts her again, setting her back down on the worktop and stepping between the legs that she spreads for him with an eagerness that sends his blood racing through his body. She wraps one hand around the back of his neck for balance, hooking one leg around his waist and the other… The other she lifts up, over Danse’s arm so he can brace a hand in the bend at the back of her knee and then she’s spread open and looking at him with an expression of such intense arousal that Danse is finding it hard to breathe. He’s never been this hard in his  _ life _ . 

Nora reaches for his free hand and guides it between them, down between her spread legs and Danse breathes out a ragged sigh at the wet warmth he finds there, lets Nora guide his fingers to where feels best for her, and revels in the way her mouth parts around a gasp when he slides a finger into her, curling it lazily in such a way that it sends her legs tensing with a soft keen. He keeps his movements slow, cataloguing her reactions so he knows where to touch, where to press to make her body sing, until she makes a noise of impatience and Danse relents, moving his hand away and shifting until their hips are aligned and he’s so very close to what they both want that he feels dizzy with it. 

“Danse,” Nora says breathlessly, pulling him down until their foreheads are pressed together. 

“Nora,” he pants back and then they both look down between their bodies, watching as Danse lines up and, with a broken gasp, presses inside. 

Nora’s body gives way to him easily and it’s almost unbearably hot and Danse has to grit his teeth tightly together, tensed up hard so he doesn’t come apart in seconds. And the  _ sound  _ Nora makes, like the breath has been punched out of her, half gasp, half moan, lower, deeper than the ones before; this one shakes out of her throat and prickles along Danse’s overheated skin like a physical caress. He holds steady for what feels like an eternity, burning up and fighting against the pleasure that’s trying to drive him mad and very nearly succeeding. He waits for Nora to adjust, for the fingers clutching the back of his neck to relax, for the harsh way she chokes out, “ _ fuck me. _ ”

And Danse obeys. Bracing his hand against the wall above Nora’s head, he finds his leverage and slowly rolls his hips forward, hissing at the pleasure burning him up from the inside out. He finds an easy rhythm after a few testing thrusts, but even that is edging too close to  _ too much _ , so he pulls out as far as he dares before pushing back in, head spinning at the way Nora’s nails drag tantalisingly down the back of his neck. 

After that, it’s too hard for Danse to think coherently. He’s done well to get this far without completely losing it, but now all he can do is feel, chase pleasure and lose himself to it. Nora clutches at him, nails little pricks of pain against his skin that only make his pleasure spike higher, and her head is thrown back, mouth slack as each of Danse’s thrusts forces another moan from her parted lips. She looks wild and fiercely beautiful like this, and the long, elegant arch of her throat is too enticing when bared like that, so Danse leans in to bite her, leaving little crescent indents from his teeth and soft red marks from his kisses along her neck. Each one makes Nora writhe, and when Danse shifts, angling his hips to hit deeper, harder, Nora arches her back and cries out, long and loud and ardent, praising him and cursing him in equal measure,  _ go fast, harder, deeper, more, Danse, god please more—  _ And Danse can only obey, lost to everything except they way she sounds, they way she moves, the way pleasure coils heavy and low in his abdomen, and always  _ Nora, Nora, Nora _ . 

Danse doesn’t know whose pleasure peaks first. His mind is lost in a haze of heat and want so intense he can’t breathe from the weight of it. He watches, almost as though from a distance, as Nora convulses, back arched in a perfect curve, eyes shut tight against the force of her orgasm when it hits. And then Danse is utterly lost, waves of that rich, deep ache washing through his body, down his spine, his legs, leaving him shaking and breathless, and he can hear twin heartbeats pounding in his ears as Nora finds his mouth with hers. He kisses her blindly, clumsily, but no less ardently, and then Nora is back properly in his arms, sweaty and shivering and at some point Danse finds his legs have given out and they’ve collapsed in a messy heap on the warehouse floor. 

“Oh my god,” Nora gasps, splayed across Danse’s chest that’s rising and falling rapidly as he tries desperately to catch his breath. She sounds almost drunk, words slurring together almost incomprehensibly. “Oh my god,  _ Danse _ .”

“Uh-huh...” Danse tilts his head to look at her and is confronted with the very real possibility that he might’ve pulled some sort of important muscle in his… exuberance. “I, uh…” He clears his throat. “At the risk of sounding cliché… That— Was it… Good for you?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Nora says and rolls off of him to flop onto her back on the floor. “Holy shit, Danse. You were holding out on me. I’ve never been fucked like that in my  _ life _ .”

Danse isn’t too proud to admit that her bold claim definitely does something for his ego. It’s probably obvious how pleased he is, judging by the fact that he can’t seem to wipe the stupid smile off his face. 

“We can’t sleep in here,” Danse tells her when she tries to snuggle close again, eyes drooping closed. “You’ll freeze.”

“We absolutely can,” Nora says, refusing to move. “There’s a spare bedroll and blankets in the locker.” She waves a hand in the vague direction of the far end of the warehouse. Danse snorts and shifts her gently off his shoulder, getting to his feet with a groan to fetch the appropriate items. When he lays it out, he has to physically lift Nora onto the bedroll because she won’t move, until he settles down beside her and then she’s all over him, leeching up his warmth and nuzzling into the few parts of his body that have softened since he came to Sanctuary. He sighs fondly and wraps an arm around her so she can get comfortable and then the soft sound of her even breathing is the only sound in the night, other than the gentle crackle of the candles that slowly fades out as they burn down and extinguish. Shortly after they do, Danse is pulled slowly into sleep, exhausted and satisfied by the weight of the world in his arms. 


	7. Chapter 7

Eighteen months since Danse was brought to Sanctuary and he’s finding it hard to remember who he was before this. Days blur together, but it’s far from monotonous, more that he’s always so busy, so productive, so  _ happy,  _ that he finds it hard to mark the passing of time and just  _ lives, _ really lives, for what feels like the first time in his life. 

He bounces around the settlement as needed, from patrol duty, to farming, to helping settle the newcomers that never seem to stop arriving, and through it all still manages to find time to just be with Nora, stealing private moments during the day, and then disappearing into their now shared quarters at night. It’s wonderful, it’s perfect, and Danse can honestly say he’s never been happier. The incident with the Brotherhood seems further away with each new work-filled day. 

It’s late afternoon when Nora comes to find him. He’s knee-deep in mud and dirt, helping to bring in the last of the season’s crops, when he hears her playful wolf whistle from the fence. She grins at him and he gets to his feet, dumping an armful of carrots into a rusty wheelbarrow before approaching, leaning over the fence to kiss her softly in greeting. She’s in full Minutemen regalia, pack shouldered and gun holstered. Danse gives her a once over, eyebrows raised. 

“Preston and I are escorting some settlers to County Crossing,” she explains, reaching out to rub some dirt off of Danse’s cheek. “We’re getting pretty overloaded here so we’re trying to spread people out a bit.”

It’s a logical plan. Sanctuary, big as it is, is definitely skirting a bit too close to overpopulated and there’s certainly a need to spread the settlers out a bit. Danse is still a bit disappointed, but with Preston by her side he knows she’ll be well supported in any potential combat. 

“We won’t be gone long,” Nora says reassuringly. “It’s a simple escort, we’ve done it dozens of times. I just wanted to let you know, I’m leaving Sanctuary in your hands. There’s no one else I trust more to keep everyone safe.”

Danse is touched by her faith in him. He likes to think he’s earned it by now, and he’ll do everything in his power to prove that she’s right to trust him. He offers her a relaxed salute and leans over the fence to kiss her again. “Come home safe,” he tells her, nudging her nose with his own. 

“Always,” she promises, touching his cheek softly before heading to where Preston is waiting for her by the bridge at the settlement limits. He watches until she disappears out of sight, then returns to work, studiously ignoring the keen sense of absence now lodged somewhere firmly beneath his ribs. 

  
  


—

  
  


Nora is gone for a week before Danse lets himself miss her. He’s always been a hard-worker, but he throws himself into all his duties with a kind of single-minded focus that leaves little room for anything else. He doesn’t take command of Sanctuary, not quite, but he does notice that most of the settlers defer to him with no protest, and that his suggestions are followed as though they’re orders, which is a little jarring after so long. Still, it makes keeping things running easier and he’s happy for the relaxed cooperation he gets from everyone he works with, and he’s not sure if it’s because they respect him or because he’s close to Nora. 

Judging by the way they’re comfortable with him enough to rub him good-naturedly in a way few of Danse’s precious subordinates ever have, he thinks it may be the former. 

He organises guard patrols that rotate on four-hour shifts so everyone is well rested. He implements a rota system so that everyone knows their daily duties and has ample time to rest between chores. It feels familiar in a way that doesn’t twinge his old wounds too badly, and for that he’s thankful, even if after everything he’s still not exhausted enough at the end of the day not to long for the empty space beside him to be filled with laughter and light. 

He considers using the radio to try and contact Nora at County Crossing, just to check in, to hear her voice and confirm that she’s safe. But it seems foolish to broadcast to anyone that might be on the frequency that the General has left her settlement, so he quashes that desire and gets on with his work, takes on extra workloads in the hopes that when he collapses into bed at night, he’s too tired to miss her too much. 

It works, for a while. But by the fortnight mark, Danse’s nerves are somewhat frayed. Currently, there’s no one in the settlement that Danse is close enough with to unload on, and it’s distressing for a whole ten minutes before he physically snaps himself out of that line of thought and retreats to the warehouse to brood and modify his rifle until his mind is blank to everything but the movement of his hands as he methodically disassembles and reassembles his weaponry. 

Darla comes to get him shortly after sundown, telling him to get his “moody ass” to the bar for a drink before he does his own head in. He considers refusing but honestly? He’s done with the grumpy loner act he’s got going on and company sound infinitely better than another night spent staring at the ceiling while he tries in vain to fall asleep alone. 

And the bar is packed when they arrive and Danse is welcomed with various cheers and claps on the back as he makes his way to the counter. He comes away with a generously filled glass of whiskey and Darla ropes him into a high stakes game of poker with some other settlers. They’re bartering off chores rather than caps, and the current pool consists of twelve hours on Brahmin duty that no one wants to lose. Danse folds miserably about three hands in, and comes away with a whole twenty-four hours of additional chores that he accepts gracefully, especially when that gives way to a friendly round of jeers and teasing that cheers him up to no end. 

They all file out of the bar just before 2am and Danse is more relaxed than he has been since Nora left, which is no small feat. He crawls clumsily into bed and is even graced by the heavy, drooling presence of Dogmeat, who takes up more of the bed than a mutt of his size should be able to as he snuggles down half on top of Danse, trying to lick his face until Danse is too tired to fight him off and just lets it happen. 

He still misses Nora something awful, but Danse knows she can handle herself and that she won’t leave County Crossing until the settlers are comfortable and safe. She’ll come home soon, he knows she will, and it’s with that comforting thought fresh in his mind that he finally succumbs to sleep. 

The night is still and quiet and the patrol shift rotates with nothing to report during the handover. The sky is clear and the moon hangs bright against the backdrop of glittering stars, eternal and peaceful, and beneath it, partway across the Commonwealth, Nora is throwing dry kindling onto a small fire while Preston spreads out his bedroll, settling down while Nora takes over the dawn watch. They’ve accomplished their goal and are halfway home, and Nora is so desperate to see Danse again that she aches with it. She can see the lights of Sanctuary in the distance, a tantalising end goal on the horizon, and the sight of it both reassures and distresses her. 

Preston bids her goodnight and settles down, leaving her alone with her restless thoughts in the night. 

And then the night lights up like a signal flare, a brief but blinding flash of light that burns Nora’s eyes and leaves ghostly after images swimming across her vision. For one long, horrifying second, Nora is standing on a slowly descending platform, a mushroom cloud forming menacingly in the distance. And then she’s back in her body, back in the present, and when her vision clears the sound follows the light, an earth-shattering rumble that almost seems to shake through the ground all the way to their modest little camp in Wakeham.

Preston is on his feet in seconds, alert and ready while Nora is blinking tears from her watering eyes to try and clear her spotty vision. She hears his low, stuttered breath and then he’s reaching up to take his hat off, musket clattering, forgotten, to the ground. 

In the distance, lit up like a jagged scar across the barren landscape, is Sanctuary. 

And it’s  _ burning _ . 

  
  


—

  
  


Danse has a split-second window in which to act, and it’s because of Dogmeat that he even has that. Because the dog snarls and jumps off the bed, hackles raised and teeth bared, Danse is dragged out of sleep and acts purely on instinct, rolling sharply to the side and off the bed onto the floor just as a shockwave rips through the house, folding the rusted foundations like paper. In a vicious torrent of sound and fire, the roof caves in and Danse is only saved by quick thinking as he stays low to the floor, and the crumbling roof of the house collapses onto the bed where he had been lying mere seconds ago. 

Burning debris scorched his skin, but Danse is fuelled by pure adrenaline and is numb to the pain as he crawls out of the ruined house, coughing hard into his elbow, blinding by smoke and flames. Dogmeat is nearby, thankfully unharmed, barking and growling furiously, and the ringing in Danse’s ears slowly starts to fade, replaced by the sounds of terrified screaming and gunfire. 

Logically, Danse knows what’s happening and he feels far removed from the danger he’s currently in, like he’s watching it happen over his own shoulder, and it’s that disconnection that allows him to act smartly, rather than allow the panic to set in and seize up his body. He heads off to the warehouse at once, Dogmeat at his heels, and once inside he wrenches open the toolbox on the worktop, grabbing the first fusion core he finds. 

It takes seconds for him to suit up, to ram the fusion core into the power armour and flare its systems to life. He doesn’t have time for the pre-checks, doesn’t have time to sign off on efficiency and optimum functionality, doesn’t let any of that slow him down the way it once would have. The moment the power armour opens with a pneumatic hiss, Danse is inside, sealing the suit and grabbing his rifle, charging out into the burning ruins of his home. 

The minute they see him, the settlers rally to his side. There’s panic hanging thick and tangible in the air, but not a single one of them hesitated to join him, the lucky few that were on watch still garbed one their armour and weaponised. Those that aren’t are shoddily kitted with whatever they have spare and then Danse is barking orders that are followed without hesitation. 

“Safeties off!” He roars, raising his rifle to lead the charge. “Maximum engagement— Leave no one alive! If you can’t fight, rally the injured and get them out of the vicinity!”

“For the Minutemen!” Someone shouts and then the night is split by the furious roar of Sanctuary’s own, hungry for revenge and rabid to retaliate. 

Danse quickly loses count of how many Knights and Paladins fall to his rifle, of how many cells he burns through ripping into their ranks. He watches as their own ranks begin to thin and diverts his attention to taking out the Paladins armed with miniguns. He watches, numbly, as his armoured hands rip apart the armour of a fallen Paladin, tearing a gatling laser from their post-mortem grip, and then he’s firing and all he can hear is the rapid roar of shots firing, soaring through the air, biting into steel and flesh and bone, and wave after wave of them keep coming, keep falling before him, keep killing their own, until Danse is forced to yell orders for a full, desperate retreat. 

At some point Danse loses his helmet, as well as the left leg of his power armour, broken plates shearing off under relentless gunfire until the frame is bare and his leg underneath is half-crippled and bloody. He still can’t feel, can’t think past the cloud of militant necessity that’s driving him as he guides the survivors of Sanctuary down the hillside, ordering them to disperse into the ruined streets of Concord for shelter while he holds of the latest wave of Brotherhood Knights hunting them down. 

There chance of survival is slim to none but Danse is  _ damned  _ if he’s going to go down without a fight. His last promise to Nora was that he would keep Sanctuary safe and he’s going to die defending their people if it comes to it. While he still draws breath, he’ll keep fighting. 

A sharp whistle sounds through the air, splitting the night with the shriek of it, and then another explosion rips through the settlement, tearing through the ranks of the Brotherhood in a storm of light and fire. Seconds pass and then there’s another whistle, another explosion, and Danse is thrown to the ground, ears ringing and vision blurred, and then everything dims and Danse can’t keep fighting anymore. His arms give out and he collapses in a heap of crushed metal and blood, heartbeat thudding in his ruined ears and emptying his veins one beat at a time. 

In his life, Danse has had maybe a hundred or so close calls with death. He’s been on impossible situations before in the line of duty and has always been willing to lay his life down for the greater good, or what he  _ believed  _ was the greater good. 

But now that Danse is here, at the end of things and dying, really  _ truly  _ dying, it’s nothing like he pictured it to be. He doesn’t have any poignant final thoughts, doesn’t even have the cognisant ability to think of Nora’s face as his consciousness starts to slip away. All he can think is that he’d hoped to go differently, after everything he’d given to get here. 

A shadow passes over Danse’s vision and there's something hot on his cheeks that might be blood or tears, he’s not sure which, and then Danse thinks that it’s a shame this shadow is blocking out the stars, because he’d have liked to see them before the end. 

A shot rings out, a final deafening sound, and then the night is silent. 

And Danse? Danse finally rests. 

...

…

...

...And then Danse is thrown back into consciousness, into light and confusion and  _ pain _ , with all the force of a tornado. His lungs burn and his heart throbs in his chest and something is pinning him down by the shoulders so forcefully that the suffocating sensation of claustrophobia is clawing its way savagely up his throat. He cries out and the sound is raw and wild, a cry born of terror and rage, that rips out of him like blood from a gruesome wound and he’s— he’s  _ alive _ and  _ furious  _ and someone is cupping his face, shouting something frantically, shaking him, calling out to him. 

“—anse!  _ Danse!  _ Danse, look at me! Please look at me, Danse, it’s okay! You’re okay, you’re safe!”

Danse’s chest is on fire and his skin is crawling with the heat of his fury and fear. He chokes on the breaths he tries to take to ground himself, saliva dripping down his chin as he yells and curses and  _ screams _ . He’s drowning under  _ too much,  _ too much sensation, too much pain, and there’s nothing for him to focus on, nothing for him to ground himself with and he just wants to lash out, to cause as much pain as possible before he— Before… Before…

_ Nora _ …

He can see her. He can see her face and she looks so beautiful that it quiets the rage scorching through his blood, even though her face is twisted up in fear and pain, she looks so,  _ so _ beautiful and Danse misses her so much that the tender ache of it manages to chase away his fury. He hopes she’s safe, wherever she is, because this can’t be her, she can’t really be here because wherever Danse is, there's nothing but terror and pain and he doesn’t want her anywhere near it. He takes a breath that rattles horribly on the way into his lungs and the chilled air cools his insides like water dousing flames. God, he wishes with every fibre of his being that Nora is safe and that she won’t try to bear the guilt of Sanctuary’s fall all on her own. 

“... _Sleep_ ,” he hears the phantom Nora whisper, the ghost of her touch against his cheek. “... _Sedated…_ _Love… Be okay… Rest… Safe… With you_ …” Her voice rises and fades in waves, whispering things Danse can barely make sense of, but comfort him all the same. Far more slowly than it came, the bloody haze of rage that had burned him from the inside out begins to ebb and then Danse is lost to nothingness once more.”

  
  


—

  
  


Nora closes the door quietly, hands shaking as she stands there for a few moments, forehead resting on the wood between her and Danse. Carrington is waiting down the hall, arms folded but expression patient, giving Nora all the time she needs to gather herself before she decides their next steps. It’s uncustomarily kind of him and Nora actually hates him for it, a little bit. Of all the times to offer her courtesy, it has to be now, on the back of Sanctuary’s downfall. Still, she pushes down the anguish and straightens her back as she turns to him with a curt nod. He beckons her to follow and leads her out into the central hub of the Railroad’s headquarters where Preston and Desdemona are waiting with the others, Hancock and Deacon and Glory, to name a few. 

“He’ll make a full recovery,” Carrington says and Preston gives a low exhale of relief. Beside him, Hancock visibly relaxes and offer Nora a faint smile. She doesn’t return it. “With time. For now it’s best that he rest.”

“That’s good,” Desdemona says, tone flat and no-nonsense as usual. “Perhaps now we can finally talk properly and you can clue us in on what the hell you were thinking, starting a fight with the Brotherhood of all people.”

She’s looking at Nora who won’t meet her eyes. It’s Hancock who speaks next and he moves as though he wants to put himself physically between Nora and Dez. “Hey now,” he says, tone deceptively light. “You don’t have to  _ start _ a fight with the Brotherhood, they’re always lookin’ for an excuse to lay down their preferred brand of “justice”. Why the fuck else would they open fire on a weaker settlement just to get even?” Hancock folds his arms, nodding like he’s about to deliver the most devastating line in history. “Nah, we don’t need to talk about what started it, we need to talk about how we’re gonna  _ finish  _ it.”

“I’m with him,” Deacon says from where he’s leaning against the far wall. “The Brotherhood have been a dangerous, unquantifiable factor in our work for too long. And they’ve always gone unchallenged because they’ve got superior firepower. I’m thinking that now they’ve shown their hand, we’ve gotta hit back twice as hard.”

Desdemona scowls at him. “And how, pray tell, do you propose we do that? Do the Minutemen have enough people to rally sufficient opposition? The Railroad sure as hell don’t and even if we teamed up, they’d gun us down before we could get close.”

“We took down the Institute,” Deacon fires back at once. “Compared to them, I’m thinkin’ the Brotherhood won’t be much of a challenge.”

“The Institute weren’t a military faction,” Desdemona points out icily. “And we had inside knowledge of the Institute before we went in. We know  _ nothing  _ of the Brotherhood’s weaknesses, we’d be flying completely blind.”

Deacon grins unsettlingly. “Funny you should mention flying, Dez. Because I’m thinking—“

“No.”

“I’m  _ thinking _ —“

“ _ No _ .” Desdemona tenses, eyes hard and jaw clenched. “Deacon, shut your mouth.”

“Let him speak,” Carrington says stonily. 

“Thanks, Doc.” Deacon preens as all eyes focus on him. Nora finally manages to drag her eyes up from the ground to look at him, and when she does, it's to see Deacon staring right at her, that awful smile spread right across his face. “General, I’m thinking it’s about time I told you about Operation Red Glare.”

Nora stares right back, ignoring Desdemona’s furious hiss. “I’m listening.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s part one! Like I said, the sequel is already underway and should be up soon, along with a few oneshots, too. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m @ProneToRelapse on twitter and I’m always down to make new fronds


End file.
